


Away

by Vimeddiee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anal Sex, Daddy Issues, Drinking to Cope, M/M, Not That Kind of Story, Porn before feelings, Selkies, Shimada Drama, Strangers to Lovers, Switch Hanzo Shimada, Switch Jesse McCree, because I desperately want the bros to talk, but NOT the fun kind, ex-yakuza Hanzo, hanzo is sad, is it a medium burn if it's like 3 chapters, no seal sex, sealcree, selkcree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-07-04 04:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15833361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vimeddiee/pseuds/Vimeddiee
Summary: Hanzo awakens to the feel of grit in his eyes and the crunch of sand between his teeth. This in itself doesn’t rudely force him into consciousness, but the insistent flicking against his nose that he groggily attempts to bat away, does.“High tide’s coming, you better nap someplace else.”AKA I wanted to write McCree as a slappy boy so I DID.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I doodled some [Selkcree](http://vimeddiee.tumblr.com/post/173357166576/selkcree-smol-shimadas-from-a-convo) and then my brain didn’t want to let go of the AU so I’m exercising my fic fingers. 
> 
> I’ve decided not to give Hanzo dragon powers in this AU, I figured selkies would seem less impressive when you’re able to whip out ultra-cool spirit dragons whenever.
> 
> Unbeta'd! Any inaccuracies are my bad entirely! I just like selkies and abusing the heck out of google. 
> 
> Much love to [CaptainCorgi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCorgi/pseuds/CaptainCorgi) for inspiring this and for going along with my madness!
> 
> (Special mention to [Mataglap](https://archiveofourown.com/users/mataglap/pseuds/mataglap) for their help with link fixing, thank you!)

 

_Hanzo may not be old enough to understand the nuances of adult behaviour, but he’s relatively certain that Family Time traditionally includes two brothers and their father, not two brothers and six bodyguards at a private beach while their father leaves to take a business call which will possibly last the entire afternoon._

 

_Genji adapts surprisingly quickly for a five-year-old confronted with disappointment, running down to the sea squealing and kicking up sand while Hanzo watches his father’s sleek black sedan pull away from the beachside and disappear around a curve. He makes the face that earned him the description of ‘stern child’ by his tutors, much to the amusement of his father who at the time claimed his son was much too little to scowl and that was how Hanzo learned what this particular face was called._

 

 _Yesterday’s trip to explore the grounds of_ Matsumae-jō _and enjoy the exquisite cherry blossoms_ _had been tainted by grief among the now reduced Shimada family. The boys, Genji especially, hadn’t been dealing well with the loss of their mother and the Clan expressed a haughty disapproval of such emotional outbursts once the mourning period had been strictly—albeit briefly—observed, prompting the_ kumichō _to propose a leave of absence and journey with his sons to one of their getaway spots tucked into the southwestern Hokkaido coast._

 

_(The sole purpose of this retreat had been to spend time with his children and gain closure, yet Sojiro Shimada steadily became something of a rare presence. After a handful of mealtimes and the singular visit to the castle, the boys—Genji, strangely enough, without difficulty—learn to expect his company less.)_

 

 _Hanzo sighs, trying not to feel upset._ Father never cries, _he reminds himself,_ and he’ll be back soon.

 

 _The next breeze is chilly and Hanzo shivers in his tank top and shorts. He absently scuffs a sandal against a large, sun-warmed stone for a few minutes, then looks out towards the rock pool where Genji is now happily collecting sea creatures with one of the guards_ — _Goro, who has rolled up the pants of his suit to wade in and provide assistance._

 

_Not really wanting to join them, Hanzo opts instead for abandoning his sandals and climbing the jagged rock formations at the shore’s edge. He leaps from boulder to boulder, scrambling for purchase on the rare occasion that he slips. He’s getting better at it. Maybe he can show father when he comes back._

 

_He scales one of the many tooth-shaped islands jutting up from the shallows and reaches the top with no small effort. He remains there, crouched low against stinging salty winds while he surveys the beach; a small sandy crescent punctuated with volcanic rock and edged by imposing cliffs, separated from the private, narrow road that borders it with a barrier cut into the stone base. He watches this road with hawk-like intensity from his vantage point, aware that he probably won’t catch a glimpse of an armoured car any time soon, but feels hopeful all the same._

 

_After a few moments of stillness, pretending he’s a handful of mythological creatures and maybe one or two of his favourite heroes, he arranges himself into a seated position and lets his bare feet dangle over the edge, pointing his toes towards the sea to stretch out his calf muscles._

 

 _He catches some movement in the lower edges of his periphery and takes a deep breath, ready to call out that he will be down soon, anticipating a Genji eager to show him something slimy or one of the guards checking in_ _—_ _which is silly because Hanzo can_ absolutely _look after himself and besides, what he’s doing is Very Important_ _—_ _but when he looks down it is_ not _Genji and it is_ not _one of the guards. Instead, it’s a scruffy, scrawny, dark-haired little boy, peering up at him from a small space between the rocks not too far from where Hanzo is perched._

 

_The deep breath previously assigned to calling out is alternatively used for a cry of surprise which startles the child, prompting him to disappear behind the rocks quicker than Hanzo can blink._

 

_Hanzo, alarmed, abandons his spot and scrambles over the edge, ignoring the scrapes and scratches gained in his haste. He drops heavily into wet sand and, as if being chased, makes a break for the beach, running at full speed because he’s confused and excited and doesn’t know what else to do except seek protection from the guards as he was taught, even though a part of him feels foolish for doing so._

 

 _A couple of the guards, alerted by Hanzo’s earlier cry, are already making their way down the beach to intercept him, suits stark against the sand. The rest remain with a protesting Genji, who is being ushered out of the rock pool and positioned safely behind somebody, for the wrath of the_ kumichō _will be mighty if either of his sons come to any harm in his absence._

 

_Once Hanzo is close enough he stumbles to a stop to catch his breath, “I saw someone!” he pants to the nearest guard, who just so happens to be Goro, the most senior of the gathered security detail._

 

_Goro, his pants still rolled up, carefully sets down a neon green bucket full to the brim with seawater and Genji’s creatures, unholsters his gun and utters, “Where.”_

 

_Hanzo whips out an arm to point in the direction he came from, and Goro ventures there with one other guard while Hanzo stays behind getting his breath back. Watching them go, mean-faced and guns raised, produces an unfamiliar flitting in his stomach and a fidgeting of hands as he fights anxiety. What will they do if they find the small visitor? Not everyone knows that this beach is exclusively Shimada._

 

 _Now that he has a minute to recall the scene properly, the boy had been unclothed, wide-eyed_ _—_ _perhaps lost or scared. Hanzo’s insides roil with shame; he should have better controlled his reaction and not have been so easily surprised, he should have explained himself clearly to Goro, should have stopped for a moment to think. A child would be_ shot _and it will be_ all his fault _._

 

_His distress increases at hearing Genji’s excited whisper, some distance behind. “...Are they gonna kill someone? Can I see?”_

 

It’s only a boy _, Hanzo wants to call out to the men who have now disappeared from view,_ don’t punish him _._

 

_A loud cackling startles him if only for the manner in which it resembles the crack of a gunshot, and Goro’s head pops out from behind a column of rock, gesturing at Hanzo to join him while grinning from ear to ear. Hanzo takes a second to process this, allowing Genji the opportunity to race past him to shore, unencumbered by a human shield and protocol._

 

_Hanzo swiftly follows and catches up to his younger brother, now splashing into the water and skirting the rocks he’s too young to climb. Hanzo gets close enough to grab his hand and leads him out into the sheltered inlet where Goro and the other guard, guns holstered, stand waiting._

 

_Goro points towards a little cove just a few feet away, constructed by pieces of the cliffside that had fallen victim to time and erosion, “There’s your ‘someone’.”_

 

 _Hanzo does not know much about seal migration despite his impressive eight-and-a-half years, but he_ is _familiar enough with this particular coastline to be surprised at the appearance of a lone seal pup so early in the season._

 

_“That’s not what I_ _—_ _” he begins, but is interrupted by Genji’s high-pitched squeal of delight and the snatching of his hand out of Hanzo’s grip in an attempt to charge towards the cove, except Goro grabs the back of his t-shirt and effectively holds him in place._

 

 _“Easy,_ waka-sama _, it could bite.”_

 

_Huddled against the side of the cove’s mouth ‘it’ watches them; head lowered, luminous brown eyes large and wary, whiskers quivering. The grey colouring of its plump little body gently fades into brown, speckled and shimmering as it catches the late afternoon sun._

 

_“Probably waiting for mama,” Goro says, crouching carefully in shallow waters to put himself at eye-level. Genji copies him, giggling. “All this trouble over a baby,” he adds, throwing an amused glance over his shoulder at Hanzo._

 

 _At this, Hanzo feels his face heat up with indignation. “I didn’t see a_ seal, _I saw a_ boy! _”_

 

_“Nothing else around here but rocks and water...” Goro stands and gently taps the crease between Hanzo’s brows with an index finger, “you gonna make us check again?”_

 

_Hanzo opens his mouth to reply in the affirmative, only to shut it again with an audible click. He has two options: insist on locating a human child who evidently refuses to be found, or admit he confused a seal pup for one. Hanzo greatly dislikes being the subject of anyone’s amusement and dislikes being wrong even more, but he recognises a second chance when he sees one and slowly shakes his head._

 

_Goro snorts, “Thought so,” he turns his attention back to the seal, “should probably shoot it,” he muses, thumbing the flap of his holster, “it’s gonna eat its own weight in fish if we let it get bigger and we got enough of these little shits around here doing that as it is.”_

 

 _Hanzo’s stomach drops all the way down to his feet. He is no stranger to violence and does not want to appear weak in front of the others if it comes to that, but the pup’s eyes are huge and beseeching as if it_ knows _. Fortunately_ _—_ _and to Hanzo’s great relief_ _—_ _Goro seems to change his mind, bending forward to gently tug a creeping Genji back by the waistband of his swimming shorts, then settles once again into a crouch to peer at the creature some more._

 

_“Cute little bastard, though.”_

 

_Goro turns his head and calls out to the other guard there with them, lounging back against a boulder. “Tanaka! Get the leftovers from lunch.”_

 

_He jerks his chin in the direction of the beach and Tanaka obeys, heading promptly to shore. Genji shrieks with excitement, scaring the small huddle of blubber into squeezing as far into itself as physically possible._

 

_Hanzo feels himself drawn by sympathy and takes a few steps forward to squat beside Goro and Genji. Goro makes an approving noise, as if Hanzo has passed some test of bravery or manhood._

 

_The seal has its head turned away and tucked into the side of the cove, clearly distressed, and Hanzo feels an intense need to comfort it. Perhaps Goro senses this because he encourages both boys to inch closer with him until the three of them are but an arm’s length away, or he is simply tired of maintaining his grip on Genji and no longer feels that the pup poses any danger. He warns against touching it too suddenly or too much all the same._

 

 _Despite being at an age during which he tries very hard to act like his stern father,_ _Hanzo possesses the natural, sparkling curiosity of childhood that must be satisfied by the Petting of Adorable Things. He’s outdone, of course, by his little brother who reaches out immediately_ _,_ _failing to heed Goro’s earlier suggestion and is woefully unsuccessful, receiving nothing but the further withdrawing of a small head and a series of frightened little huffs delivered wetly into the rolls of a blubbery neck._

 

 _Hanzo_ _,_ _learning from Genji’s mistakes,_ _carefully and patiently holds an open palm out and is eventually rewarded with a peeking pair of eyes. Hanzo leans forward another inch, taking great pains to remain steady. To his delight, the pup slowly stretches out its neck and takes a few cautious, tickly sniffs._

 

 _A small giggle escapes Hanzo at the sensation and he cuts it short in surprise. He hasn’t felt the need to smile_ _—_ _let alone laugh_ _—_ _in quite some time, and it makes him feel strange. His palm continues to be explored by a small damp nose and he welcomes it with an increasing giddiness._

 

_“Good boy,” he whispers, partly out of habit, in the same gentle tones he uses with the ailing family Akita back home. Both Genji and Goro make sounds of wonder but Hanzo is too enchanted to notice._

 

 _By the time Tanaka returns with the_ bentō _lunches the boys were unable to finish earlier in the day, Genji (having now learned by his older brother’s example to avoid sudden movements) is getting his own palm sniffed and looking extremely pleased with himself._

 

 _For close to an hour Hanzo picks out leftover fish from the_ bentō _boxes, rinses it briefly in seawater per Goro’s instruction and hands half to Genji so that they can both toss small pieces to the pup, ravenous after the ordeal it was put through, even catching some of the tasty projectiles with its mouth before they hit the sand._

 

 _Hanzo is enjoying himself so thoroughly that he barely registers the setting sun or the ringing of Goro’s phone and it’s not until there’s a hand on his shoulder and a voice saying, “The_ kumichō _wants you home now,” that he realises with growing dismay that the day is over. Genji comes to the same conclusion seconds after Hanzo does and initiates one of the worst tantrums he’s had to date._

 

 _As Goro carries a wailing Genji back to the beach, Hanzo spends a few minutes watching the seal pup, huddled close to the cove wall with piqued curiosity in its enormous eyes._ I don’t want to leave you here alone _, he thinks somewhat miserably, but out loud he uses the same imperious tone he’s heard his father dedicate to words of great importance, “I must go now. You are under the protection of Shimada and no harm will come to you.”_

 

_Dark eyes blink slowly back at him. Hanzo remembers to add, “And eat as much fish as you want when you grow up.”_

 

 _Satisfied with the exchange, he turns and starts splashing after Goro but before getting any further he quickly scrambles up on a rock and scans the surrounding area for maybe a glimpse of the little boy he had encountered earlier_ _..._ _except he sees nothing but a pup now brave enough to wriggle outside its shelter to stare at him._

 

_Hanzo lets out a little sigh, resists his childish urge to wave goodbye and heads towards the beach with the weight of a young seal’s gaze at his back._

 

_Genji’s creatures are returned to the rock pools, Hanzo’s sandals are collected, cleaned and placed back on his feet, and the two Shimadas_ _—_ _along with their six bodyguards_ _—_ _are packed into a pair of black sedans. Hanzo is forced to sit beside his screaming brother, who is determined to ride out the journey on the mat beneath their feet despite the strangling hold of his seatbelt and ends up uncomfortably stretched between seat and car floor. Hanzo ignores the noise and wild flailing in favour of watching the sea disappear from view, wondering if the seal will still be there tomorrow and whether or not he could convince his father to come with them to meet it._

 

_Hanzo is successful and the following day they return. Their father spends an unprecedented two whole hours with them this time but the seal, unfortunately, is nowhere to be found._

 

 

* * *

 

Hanzo discreetly tugs down the left sleeve of his hoodie and attempts once more to get comfortable. There are only so many times he can peel the side of his face from the train window, apologise to the elderly ladies sitting across the table from him for the unsightly behaviour and find a different surface to rest his head against.

 

He supposes he should be grateful that he feels safe enough to doze in a carriage occupied _—_ however sparsely—by strangers, despite his initial strategy being to _feign_ sleep and interact only by necessity, careful to prioritise a perfunctory politeness over being a memorably rude stranger.

 

Oh, but he is so _tired_. He fights back another potentially jaw-cracking yawn, the same one that has dogged him since he arrived to Japan the day before. He has not slept in two days and in that time he has boarded four planes, gained a crick in his neck from trying to nap in places nowhere near accommodating enough for a man with his shoulder width, visited his abandoned ancestral home to pay respects to a father long-dead because he is a sentimental fool who grasps at tradition as if it were a lifeline, and then confronted there by the brother he had banished a decade ago because Hanzo is a _predictable_ sentimental fool.

 

Of all the people he had expected to face after almost ten years away from home, Genji had been the very last on a long list of scratched out names and he had been near-unrecognisable to Hanzo; older, more tempered—a completely different version of the brother he’d known in his youth. The confrontation had been brief, charged and overwhelming, a bombardment of emotion that broke Hanzo down into spending the last hours of the anniversary of his father’s death meeting Genji’s forgiveness and understanding with bitter tears of regret.

 

And so Hanzo, exhausted in body and spirit and using what miniscule amount of energy he has left to muster some irritation at his current circumstances, is enroute to a coastal town of his suggestion, popular enough among tourists and one that he and Genji had frequented in their childhood up until the death of their mother. Genji had looked at him strangely but agreed, making no mention of how conveniently close this town was to the private beach they’d enjoyed when they were younger.

 

Dealing with Shimada property was one of the few remaining tasks Hanzo had set himself during his own banishment. He’d coldly and methodically liquidated each and all of the Clan’s assets spanning the course of five years, leaving one secluded bit of coast for last—his father’s personal purchase, not the Clan’s—mainly out of nostalgia. With his brother now added to the mix, he would have to make some adjustments to his plans...as soon as he knew what it was that Genji wanted from him. _And what I am prepared to give,_ Hanzo thinks.

 

Too tired to dedicate any more precious brainpower to the situation, Hanzo crosses his arms, careful to keep his tattoo hidden, and uses his shoulder as a headrest, determined to merely close his eyes for the remainder of the trip.

 

He ends up resignedly peeling his face from the window one final time as he nears his stop, quickly gathering his belongings as the train slows and stepping off onto an empty platform bathed in the crimson light of a fading sunset. Unwilling to make use of the seating area and potentially miss the connecting local train by nodding off, he finds a nice, flat bit of wall to lean against, dumping his duffel bag between his feet and settling in to wait.

 

It takes some conscious effort to quell the paranoia that creeps over him as the minutes trickle by. He has long grown accustomed to being on the move and looking over his shoulder at every turn, but he allows himself to lower his guard. Nobody really knows him where he’s going, and none would recognise him now even if he’d been careless or merciful enough to leave anyone alive with the means to. At thirty-eight years old, Hanzo is finally free.

 

 _Genji. Genji is here to recognise me,_ he reminds himself, frowning at the implications.

 

The low rumble of an inbound train interrupts his thoughts and he hoists his duffel bag up. _Later_ , he decides, _I will think about that later._

 

It’s evening when he arrives to his destination and he’s greeted by cool currents of air delivering salt and brine into his lungs. Hanzo adjusts the shoulder strap of his duffel bag and leaves the train station, setting off with a briskness of step to the nearest car rental, stopping only once at a convenience store, still open, to pick up some basic supplies.

 

Freshly caffeinated thanks to a pair of energy drinks that were so sweet he’s quite sure he just gave his descendants diabetes, Hanzo cruises past a dark, glittering ocean in his newly acquired (and melon-scented) rental, following the route he had taken many times during his childhood.

 

The car meanders to a stop in front of a gated property that was last maintained perhaps twenty years ago and it shows, slowly being claimed by nature and undoubtedly wildlife of the four to eight-legged variety. Hanzo switches off the ignition and sits for a few minutes, staring at the holiday home he now barely recognises under the creeping foliage. He sighs and gets out, slinging his bag across his torso.

 

As expected, the front gate’s security system is completely offline and he finds himself unable to input his entry code. He heaves another sigh, annoyed, and steps back to quickly map out a way inside. With a running jump he scales the surrounding stone wall easily, vaulting over the once-electrified fencing at the top. It amuses him that he should be infiltrating a place he owns in the same way he has previously the ostentatiously fortified homes of his marks, although he’s thankful that this time he’s more likely to encounter insects and rodents than heavily armed guards.

 

The interior of the house itself—which he reaches after he wades through the wildly overgrown garden and picks the lock of a side entrance—is stale and musty but not as bad as he thought for something as poorly maintained as this. Sealed off from the outside, the building has steadfastly withstood the elements and Hanzo is pleased that there will be less work for him to do. He turns on the power and starts up the plumbing shortly afterwards, letting all the taps run until the water becomes cool and clear. He makes a mental note to purchase light bulbs to replace the ones that failed to survive the long years of abandonment.

 

The hum of electricity is pleasant and it accompanies him as he checks each empty room, traipsing around in his shoes over the filthy tatami.  Outdated domestic appliances, sparse furnishings that rest under layers of grime, dusty futons waiting in cupboards that haven’t been opened in several decades, are some of the results of his preliminary inspection.

 

He sets his duffel bag down in the cleanest room he can find, one that’s bordered with floor-to-ceiling glass doors that face the ocean—or would have if the glass were cleaner and the tangled mess of invading shrubbery were not blocking what Hanzo remembers to be a spectacular view. He opens one of these doors with some difficulty; the passing of time and season has warped the sliding tracks and rusted the components, so a few minutes are spent heaving and muttering curses until the glass moves, screeching, to where he wants it to.

 

The breeze that enters feels exquisite and Hanzo can hear the sea beyond, providing a soothing background noise as he unpacks. He unrolls a sleeping bag and sets the items purchased earlier at the convenience store within reach. He wrinkles his nose at the _Ozeki_ cup sake left in the plastic bag, forced to buy half a dozen of them when he’d been unable to find decent brand bottles. _It’s better than nothing_.

 

Still too restless from the caffeine and sugar combo to sleep, he pockets two sake cups and squeezes out through the space he left between the glass doors, briefly fighting past the shrubs until he reaches the edge of the property and the view his memories had promised. He inhales deeply, taking in the salty air, starlight and free open ocean, wishing he could be more deserving of it.

 

It’s a fifteen-minute walk to the beach along a path that is almost too overgrown for the human eye to distinguish and much less in the kind of darkness offered outside of urban spaces, but Hanzo could do it blindfolded and makes his way along it easily.

 

When he reaches the beach, he’s hit with a wave of nostalgia even though it’s quite different from what he remembers; poorly cared for, somehow smaller, less romanticised by the passing of time. He steps over strewn seaweed and driftwood, settling in the sand and opening a sake cup to take a long-overdue sip.

 

He feels himself gradually wind down, body slowing as fatigue and jet lag replace the fading effects of the energy drinks. He checks his phone for the hour and maybe a notification from Genji regarding when and where in town would be more convenient to meet. He’s relieved to find none.

 

Hanzo opens the second sake cup, intending to return to the house right after finishing it.

 

He thinks about facing his brother again. He thinks about the past ten years he’s spent running.

 

He drinks and wonders what he should do now that he’s stopped.

 

 

* * *

 

Hanzo awakens to the feel of grit in his eyes and the crunch of sand between his teeth. This in itself doesn’t rudely force him into consciousness, but the insistent flicking against his nose that he groggily attempts to bat away, does.

 

“ _High tide’s coming, you better nap someplace else_.”

 

The voice is low, amused and in terribly accented Japanese.

 

Hanzo opens his eyes and immediately regrets it, blinded by searing light. Blinking aggressively, he encounters blurred expanses of bare, tanned skin that glistens with moisture and he squeezes his eyes shut, head pounding so intensely that he feels as if his brain has somehow procured a hammer and is beating itself to death. He struggles to make sense of his surroundings, cataloguing sensation as best he can.

 

He’s lying on a beach. There is sand in every crevice of his body. He’s an agonising combination of jetlagged and hungover. His phone should be on him but it is not. And there is a _naked man beside him_.

 

Hanzo groans and shields his eyes as they adjust to the light so that it can feel less like needles stabbing persistently at his eyeballs.

 

“This is _private property_ , fool,” he croaks pathetically in his native tongue and it’s here, lying on his back in the sand, whining, that he’s forced to accept the loss of his dignity. He cannot hope to project the image of a man who has any sort of control over his life and he feels a dramatic urge to die right where he is.

 

All Hanzo receives in response is a soft chuckle and a brief pat on the shoulder, then the presence by his side withdraws into the misty haze that currently occupies his vision, leaving him quite alone with only the sound of the tide as company.

 

When Hanzo’s eyes eventually cooperate, he peers in the direction he believes the stranger went but he doesn’t have the luxury of dedicating time to investigation. He instead occupies himself with locating his phone, buried somewhere in the sand, before the sea rushes in to take it away—like it’s currently doing to the empty sake containers that he was too late in collecting. He retrieves his device after some scrabbling around and stands, wobbling as the world heaves and spins before his eyes. He would very much like to lie down again and perhaps even drown because he’s in That Sort of Mood but the sound of incoming water grows louder and he reconsiders, preferring to remain dry.

 

Just as the waves begin to creep at his heels, he reaches the reinforced stone barrier which he climbs and collapses onto. Lying flat on his back atop it, Hanzo pinches the bridge of his nose and releases an irritated sigh. His head pulses, his mouth feels like he dragged his tongue across the entire coastline and his discomfort takes priority over everything else.

 

After a few moments of listening to the rhythmic crashing of the tide, he squints at his phone screen and groans when he sees past the impressive accumulation of missed calls to find that it’s already noon.

 

 

* * *

 

When Hanzo finally arrives at the restaurant Genji has chosen for their meeting place, he is over an hour late. He anticipates a complaint or perhaps a comment on his appearance (Hanzo is uncertain that he succeeded at not looking like he had spent the previous night and most of the morning passed out on a beach, but he is clean and freshly changed and this _must_ count for something), however, all he receives is a vaguely unimpressed raising of eyebrows.

 

Hanzo gruffly apologises and sits across from his brother who has already started on drinks without him. Genji waves a hand dismissively.

 

“You’re here now,” he says, “When you didn’t answer my calls or texts I thought you’d given me a fake number or something. Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

 

Defensiveness prompts Hanzo to snap, “I said I would, I’m no coward.”

 

He nearly winces at his tone and opens his mouth to say something less idiotic but Genji merely shrugs a shoulder and raises his half-drunk mojito, lip quirked.

 

“I looked stood-up enough to get a free drink, so excuse me for thinking otherwise.”

 

Hanzo swallows another retort, irrationally angry at Genji but most of all at himself, and consults the bistro-style menu that Genji gestures to. This last movement unfortunately draws Hanzo’s attention to the missing digits of his brother’s left hand and he quells the automatic surge of guilt that results, busying himself with ordering something that he probably will not eat.

 

Genji signals for the server and they exchange pleasantries for a few minutes. By the self-conscious smile on her face and the charming grin on Genji’s, Hanzo just _knows_ they’ll be exchanging numbers by closing time, which has him feeling an odd combination of irritated and relieved. _He hasn’t changed that much_.

 

The server leaves and Hanzo discreetly massages his dully throbbing temple. The silence that now blankets the both of them is tense and awkward and he’s at a loss for something to say. What is he supposed to talk about with the brother he had literally cried on a few days ago, after ten long years of nothing?

 

“Hey, we can do this another day if you’re not feeling too good, I’m staying for a week,” Genji says softly, noticing his discomfort.

 

This gentleness absolutely _infuriates_ Hanzo and he refuses to be pitied. “I want to be done with this,” He says through clenched teeth, “I’m sure you want more from me than an _apology_.”

 

Genji releases a breath and leans back in his seat. “Damn, I forgot how stubborn you are,” he shakes his head, “first of all, chill the fuck _out_. I didn’t come here for my pound of flesh, Hanzo. What, did you have something more important to do?”

 

Hanzo glares but says nothing. Genji sighs, “I heard someone was picking off members of the Clan a while back and I figured it was you. It’s ironic because that had been _my_ plan, you know? Back when I was scraping by, raging and plotting my revenge against you and the Family,” He takes a casual sip of his drink, and Hanzo is appalled at how nonchalant he seems, talking about their tumultuous past, “after a shitload of therapy and introspection I accepted the hand I was dealt and assumed you were just fine living it up as the Big Boss without me, so you can imagine my surprise when random uncles and cousins started dropping off the face of the earth—”

 

“You know _nothing_ of what happened!” Hanzo hisses, unable to let him continue. How _dare_ he pass judgement when he had no idea what it was like in that viper’s nest.

 

Genji falls silent. Hanzo is desperately wishing they’d had this meeting somewhere else and above all he wishes he’d been less of a fool to come here in the state he is currently.

 

When Genji speaks, his voice is low and thrumming with anger, “My own fucking brother gave me the order to slice my fingers off so I _did_ . He told me to leave my home and my Clan, so I _went_. Anything that happened after that I had to figure out for _myself._ ”

 

“You know that you forced my hand.” Hanzo answers stiffly, “Negotiating leniency for you with the Clan was no simple feat and you gave them few reasons to allow it. You _knew_ how they would interpret your actions.”

 

Genji slumps forward, “Hanzo...I don’t want to keep circling back to this fucking conversation—”

 

“Then _why_ did you come—”

 

“Yeah, I was out of control,” Genji continues, ignoring Hanzo’s interruption, “and my loyalty to the Clan was in question. They wanted to curb me...and you as _kumichō_ had the duty and burden to follow protocol. I put you in that position.”

 

“I’m well aware of what my duties were,” Hanzo snaps, “I could never understand your talent for blindly obeying me and somehow managing to rebel against the Elders in doing so. They needed fewer excuses to get rid of you and yet you _continued_ to provoke them _._ ”

 

Genji lets out a humourless laugh, “The Elders didn’t want me gone because I was being disloyal to _them_ , it was because I was being too loyal to _you_. Just imagine, Hanzo, how powerful we would have been together...it must have scared the shit out of them.”

 

For one wild, intoxicating moment Hanzo sees it: a mighty arm wielding an unruly blade. He fights against the chill threatening to run down his spine.

 

He’d been so preoccupied with striking a balance between keeping Genji out of trouble while simultaneously pleasing the Elders and providing a solid leadership of the Clan that it hadn’t even occurred to him to seek more power than he already had, and the responsibility that came with it. How incredibly naive of him to have believed that every decision he’d made under the guidance of the Elders was for the good of the Clan...it was no small wonder that he’d allowed himself to be manipulated for as long as he was.

 

As though reading Hanzo’s mind, Genji adds, “I had a lot of time to figure shit out, while I was gone. Banishment _really_ boosts objectivity and I have you to thank for that. No, Hanzo, I mean it,” he says just as Hanzo starts to shake his head and open his mouth to argue, “you gave me an out I didn’t even know I needed. And I’m...I’m glad to know which side you’re on.”

 

Genji stares at the melting ice in his glass. “I was a real piece of shit. I didn’t understand the pressure you were under, what the Elders were capable of,” he meets Hanzo’s gaze. “I have regrets too.”

 

Hanzo releases a shaky breath. His head is pounding. “That still does not mean my decisions were justified.”

 

Genji frowns. “I told you I forgave you for what they made you do.”

 

Hanzo grits his teeth, willing Genji to understand that forgiveness is more difficult for him to bear than any punishment. “You are my _brother_. I should have found another way _._ ”

 

Genji leans forward earnestly. “You _did_.”

 

And Hanzo wonders just how much he actually knows.

 

Their food arrives and he feels hungry enough to eat some of it.

 

They form a tentative truce during their meal, allowing them a space with the potential for brotherly banter, which Hanzo participates in with some unease (Genji does so much more smoothly, picking up where they’d left off ten years prior). Still, they wordlessly agree to refrain from speaking any more of the Clan.

 

Genji reveals that he spent a few years in Nepal ‘finding himself’ and is now working for a non-profit organisation that provides relief for victims of displacement from natural disasters, operating out of Hong Kong where he spends most of his time. Hanzo snorts in disbelief before he can help himself because his brother, a _humanitarian_? He dryly inquires whether the two-hundred thousand dollar watch currently wrapped around his wrist was a generous donation, forcing Genji to admit that he does indeed hustle on the side, exclaiming with mock indignation, “Who do you think I am, some kind of law-abiding citizen?” when Hanzo raises a judgemental eyebrow at him.

 

Hanzo has very little he wants to share with his brother, and Genji doesn’t ask (he always liked to talk about himself and had a decade’s worth of content to get through), besides, he’s not quite ready to move forward as quickly as he’s certain Genji expects.

 

In the meantime, he’s perfectly willing to let Genji monopolise the conversation—which he does—and it trickles naturally into a contemplative silence as they stroll through the town centre after the restaurant closes (and after Genji and their server exchange numbers, as Hanzo predicted). Hanzo’s headache is gone.

 

“I’m staying at a hotel a few minutes from _Matsumae_ castle, by the way,” Genji says and Hanzo grunts in acknowledgement.

 

“And where are _you_ staying?” Genji prods, and Hanzo isn’t _ashamed_ , exactly, of the place he’s chosen for accommodation, but he knows Genji bears little love for their family’s holiday home and everything it represented...the last thing he wants is to explain himself for a second time today. Unfortunately, Genji’s eyes narrow and Hanzo remembers that his brother is as adept at reading people as he is. Perhaps more.

 

“No. Not that _dump,_ ” he starts, but Hanzo is tired and wants to nap and it must show in his face that he’s actually a cranky old man who has made a Decision and is sticking with it because Genji, thankfully, leaves him be with a long-suffering sigh.

 

They amble on for a few quiet minutes in the late afternoon sun before Genji suggests they venture down to the Cape together, something they hadn’t done since they were boys. Hanzo is unable to adapt to the pace his brother is setting for this part of their relationship, nor does he have the energy for more than face-planting onto the next available horizontal surface, so he firmly declines. Genji, visibly disappointed, murmurs, “Next time, then.”

 

After an awkward goodbye, they go their separate ways.

 

Hanzo picks up a few supplies in town before heading off and considers punishing himself with the arduous task of cleaning the entire house with the free time he has to avoid thinking about Genji and rehashing today’s conversations over and over in his head until he makes himself sick, but he only gets as far as a sparkling bathroom and halfway decent kitchen, collapsing onto his unzipped sleeping bag with the beginnings of another headache.

 

It’s when he’s drifting off that he remembers the naked man on the beach and makes a mental note to discreetly hire someone to keep nudists—no matter how helpful—off his property for as long as the season lasts.

 

 

* * *

 

“So, where were you before coming back to Japan?” Genji asks thickly, around a mouthful of mint ice cream.

 

Hanzo ends up accepting Genji’s offer to go to _Shirakami-misaki_ after all. He had cleaned the house as much as he could, leaving large repairs, restorations and landscaping for another time (and perhaps local, expert help). Plus, he was running out of excuses to refuse his brother’s insistent pleas to continue their re-connection.

 

“Trondheim,” Hanzo replies.

 

“What the fuck were you doing in _Norway?_ ”

 

 _Resting. Hiding. Trying to drown myself in aquavit._ “I found work there,” he says instead. It was the truth, in any case.

 

Genji hums in response, licking an errant glob of melted ice cream from his thumb. Hanzo adjusts his sunglasses and looks out towards the ocean.

 

The Cape is peaceful at this hour, despite it being close to lunch time. Only a handful of tourists are present, and even so they are more excited about the experience of seeing lounging seals along the nearby rocky shoreline than the actual view from the Cape itself.

 

Genji finishes his ice cream, sighing. The crashing of waves punctures the silence for a while before he speaks again, sombre and serious.

 

“I found out about the hits. Fucking bastards couldn’t even kill you themselves,” his expression turns dark, “I’m glad you showed them how to properly deal with traitors.”

 

A visceral surge of guilt and rage assaults Hanzo as he’s thrown back into those times of plotting, running, hating, removing from the face of the earth those who shared his bloodline and who out of greed had disgraced it.

 

“Dispatching them must have been...difficult for you. I’m sorry.” Genji finishes quietly, and Hanzo attempts to collect himself with a few steadying breaths, unable to utter a reply.

 

After a considerable pause Genji clears his throat, “So, what will you do now?”

 

“What I’ve been doing for the past few years.”

 

“Killer for hire?” Genji snorts, “Hanzo—”

 

“I excel at it.”

 

“Yeah, but you always _hated_ it. You used to think yourself better than that,” he says with a hint of bitterness and an implied ‘ _better than me’_ that Hanzo automatically bristles at, a bit of their past that still needs to be unpacked, preferably at a much later date.

 

Vengeance had Hanzo killing at first, with survival (as good a reason as any) propelling him later on, the rare satisfaction of watching life drain from his victim’s eyes occurring with much less frequency until it simply became a job he was good at and had the skill set for. He’d never _hated_ it, exactly...but he’d certainly held a strong distaste for his brother’s methods and the distinct enjoyment he’d gained from killing, carrying out the _kumichō_ ’s orders— _his_ orders—with disturbing relish.

 

When Hanzo himself killed, it was clean, careful and planned. Practical. Necessary.

 

“It pays well,” he finally answers.

 

“Yeah, I hear the pension plan is pretty great.”

 

Hanzo’s lip quirks at the sarcasm. A beat of silence passes and he feels Genji watch him. _Trying to psychoanalyse me._ Hanzo contains a sigh and waits.

 

“You got so quiet,” Genji eventually says, “back then, you had so many _opinions_. You were”—he gestures vaguely, searching for the appropriate adjectives—“kind of an arrogant, overbearing asshole. Now you’re just…”

 

“A tired asshole.”

 

“I was going to say _sad_. Trust me, I get it. But you just seem so...sad.”

 

Leaning against the railing, Hanzo takes off his sunglasses and lets his gaze linger on the biggest and fattest of the seals enjoying some sun on a slab of rock.

 

“Sad,” Hanzo repeats.

 

And he wants to argue, he really does, because he has fought his whole life to prove himself capable and competent but he can’t do much more now than recognise the misery within himself. He no longer has a drive, a home or a purpose...he is a king without a kingdom. However, he’s not in the mood to be scrutinised so closely by his younger brother who is clearly provoking him into sharing his _feelings_ , so he snorts and changes the subject.

 

“Father left the beach property to me—to us,” he amends, “so I am obligated to consult with you on any decisions that—”

 

Genji interrupts with an exasperated noise, “Sell it, live in it, burn it to the ground for all I care. I don’t know why you’re so attached to that place.”

 

 _Because it was there that we were as free from the Clan as we could get,_ Hanzo silently counters, but says out loud, “I could not let the Clan claim it. It didn’t belong to them. It was ours.”

 

Genji stares at him, scoffs...and surprisingly lets it go with a shake of his head.

 

The large seal slides into the water and Hanzo decides that it’s time for lunch.

 

Saying goodbye is an awkward affair, standing on the platform of the town’s only train station and unsure of whether to bow, embrace or rest a fraternal hand on a shoulder, but Genji must leave for Tokyo where he has business (and that seems like a private little joke by the universe, Genji shouldering responsibility while Hanzo is free to roam, unburdened), then off to Brazil to oversee the logistics of some enormous housing project or other.

He extends an open invitation to his home in Hong Kong, as if expecting his older brother to simply show up there sometime in the near future. To match him, Hanzo sends over a second security code via text for the beach house. Genji lifts a sceptical eyebrow but doesn’t bother raising any objections, clearly not intending to use it any time soon.  

 

“And for fuck’s sake, you’re free now. Act like it— _l_ _ive your life_. Summer’s almost here, get a new tattoo, fuck someone, I don’t know,” Genji says, ignoring Hanzo’s drawn-out eye-rolling, “it’ll be great not needing to look over your damn shoulder every five seconds.”

 

When the train—now containing Genji—rumbles off into the distance, Hanzo has to convince himself that he’s not feeling the loss of his brother’s presence at all. _Genji is always exhausting to be around_ _and he still talks entirely too much,_ he silently grumbles, but this doesn’t stop him from remaining on the platform until the very last carriage completely vanishes from sight.

 

Before making his way home, Hanzo pauses before a tattoo and piercing studio, deciding for the first time in his adult life to follow Genji’s advice.

  
 

* * *

  

Summer arrives with a vengeance and Hanzo lies flat on his back in nothing but a pair of blue boxer briefs and a puddle of his own sweat. Thanks to a consistently unreliable AC that he hasn’t gotten around to replacing, the heat is absolutely unbearable and all he has been able to accomplish in it is melt _angrily_.

 

Loathe to even turn his head, he reaches out and blindly gropes at a popsicle, half-soft, from a small cooler he had the forethought to prepare and set close by— the result of an attempt at movement economy and an unwillingness to slog the distance to his windowless kitchen.

 

He eats the popsicle without sitting up and emits a strangled yelp as he’s immediately punished for it when a large glob of artificially flavoured ice breaks off and falls into the hollow of his throat. He lets his arm plop to the floor with an annoyed growl; clearly deciding to wear the popsicle in favour of eating it and now holding nothing but the stick it had half-heartedly clung to.

 

After a few minutes of cursing, he heaves himself up, wrinkles his nose at the melting ice sliding between his pectorals and resolves to shower for a second time. _And after that,_ he vows, _I will go out for a damn drink._

 

Hanzo is sweating in his long-sleeved shirt by the time he gets into town. The desire to keep cool wars with preventing the public exposure of his tattoo and the life he has renounced, but he refuses to be gawked at by tourists or evaded by the locals he’s carefully cultivated relationships with, so the sleeves remain unrolled.

 

And if anyone insisted on staring, he would rather they see a thirty-eight-year-old man with an undercut and a handful of semi-healed piercings and harmlessly think, ‘mid-life crisis’ instead of, ‘ex-yakuza boss’.

 

The bar Hanzo chooses is neatly ensconced between two restaurants serving local delicacies, but he’s too hot to feel hungry and single mindedly forgoes the savoury wafts in favour of the bar’s air conditioning. Hanzo takes a seat and orders his first drink of the night, almost weeping when the bartender hands him an ice-cold beer.

 

Sipping leisurely from the bottle, Hanzo surveys the dim little interior and catches sight of a familiar face further down the bar. Frowning as his memory fails to provide more clues, he gradually realises that he does not know this person at all. He’s foreign; a large man with dark, tousled hair that brushes at broad shoulders and a beard just a tad too untamed for Hanzo’s tastes. _Rugged_ , he thinks regardless, and struggles to recall which setting they may have met in previously.

 

He lets out a quiet snort and pours himself some freshly ordered sake. _It does not matter._ He knocks back the chilled liquid and chases the burn with a mouthful of beer, intent on focusing his attention elsewhere. His willpower lasts all of five seconds before he is subtly watching the foreigner again out of the corner of his eye.

 

As though aware he is being ogled, the man suddenly turns his head in Hanzo’s direction and catches him. They make eye contact. A slow grin spreads across his face and Hanzo’s next inhale is sharper than he means it to be. _Handsome_.

 

Before Hanzo even has time to recover and feign disinterest, the man rises from his stool and casually approaches, sliding his own drink along the bartop. He moves unhurriedly and this not only gives Hanzo time to prepare himself for an inevitable interaction, it also allows his attention to be drawn momentarily to the left sleeve of the red plaid button-down the man wears, rolled up to his elbow and displaying a forearm that does not exist. Hanzo arranges his facial expression into something neutral; he is now quite certain he has never met this man before. He firmly puts his thoughts on the subject to rest just as he finds himself gazing up at a broad, scruffy and wholly pleasing face.

 

The stranger tilts his head. “English?”

 

Hanzo nods.

 

“Great,” he says, relieved, “My Japanese ain’t too bad but it could be better an’ I don’t want to offend.”

 

His voice is deep, rich and smooth. Hanzo cannot pinpoint an accent more specific than ‘American’ just yet but whatever it is, he likes it a great deal and this in particular troubles him. The foreigner settles himself comfortably on the vacant stool beside him, perhaps a little too close but Hanzo would be lying if he claimed displeasure at the brief press of a warm thigh against his own.

 

With an ease that has Hanzo suspecting this is something he has done before, the foreigner introduces himself simply as, “Jesse.” Hanzo replies in kind with his first name.

 

The man, Jesse, gazes at him expectantly. Hanzo has not been in a situation like this in quite some time, and he wonders if he has missed some sort of social cue but Jesse speaks up first.

 

“Shit, here I was thinking you’d help me out.” He laughs, scratching his head, “‘Cause I swear we’ve met before but all that sounds like is a bad pick-up-line.”  

 

Hanzo raises an eyebrow at that. “It does indeed.”

 

 _I would remember someone like you,_ he muses to himself, but out loud he admits, “You do seem familiar.”

 

Jesse looks him up and down appraisingly. Boldly. “We must have those kinds of faces.”

 

Usually, Hanzo would be mustering the energy and distaste necessary for a powerful glare, but he’s weak tonight and this stranger is much too charming...Hanzo has been bearing the weight of loneliness for so long that he can’t think to deny himself. He sips his drink and rakes his own gaze over Jesse with a hum of agreement. The thigh beside his presses in a little more in response.

 

They converse, drink and navigate around personal questions, each of them clearly unwilling to share details about themselves. Eventually, Jesse leans in close, puts his lips to Hanzo’s ear and whispers a burning request. Aided by the warm buzz of alcohol and the heated promise of intimacy, Hanzo accepts.

 

The tide is low but the pier isn’t frequented as much by those currently out enjoying the local nightlife, making it a perfect place for a brief liaison. Hanzo leads Jesse into the dark space beneath the boardwalk, choosing a sturdy column to put his back to. They grind against each other for a few breathless moments, hard and ready. Jesse begins to slide down to his knees but Hanzo pulls him back up by the collar of his shirt; he’s not in the mood for that. Jesse tilts his head questioningly, eyes searching, but Hanzo finds it difficult to communicate what he wants through the haze of drink and years of solitude, turning his head away as Jesse tries to kiss him because he’s not in the mood for that either. Jesse plants searing kisses against the side of his neck instead, breath hot against skin when he murmurs, “How’re we doin’ this, sugar?”

 

Jesse has a couple of inches on Hanzo (who is by no means lacking in height), which arouses more than annoys. He’s seldom matched or exceeded in mass and strength by his sexual partners and he’s confronted with the urgent desire to be crushed by a larger, warmer body. That, apparently, is what he seems to be in the mood for.

 

With one hand grasping Jesse’s collar and holding him in place, Hanzo unzips him with the other, plunging down the front of his pants and into his boxers to grip him firmly. Jesse releases a little sigh, breath fanning over Hanzo’s crown and lightly thrusts into his fist. He unzips Hanzo in turn, and brings their weeping cocks together, wrapping his hand around Hanzo’s and jerking them hard and fast, occasionally sweeping a thumb over their slits. It’s hot and sticky and the humid air has perspiration dripping from their skin, Jesse is pressing in so close and panting in Hanzo’s ear and it’s been far, _far_ too long for him so he comes all too soon with a hiss, spilling over their entangled fingers, Jesse following immediately afterwards with a hoarse, “ _Fuck._ ”

 

They catch their breath, Jesse presses his sweaty forehead against Hanzo’s shoulder and Hanzo allows it because he likes how Jesse smells.

 

Hanzo refrains from helping his companion clean up, unsure how to offer without offending, but he sees that Jesse can manage quite well on his own with just the one hand, tucking himself in, zipping up and briefly rinsing the come off his fingers in seawater. _He does this often_ , Hanzo thinks and tries not to care overmuch.

 

“Well, it was _real_ nice meeting you.” Jesse says, smile crooked and eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

 

Hanzo nods, zipping his own pants up, “Likewise.”

 

“I’m, uh, gonna walk the beach and cool down before I drop,” A beat of hesitation, “You can come too if you want.”

 

Hanzo has the vague impression that this invitation was extended out of pure courtesy and so he declines, partly out of pride and partly out of the growing need to return home and shower as soon as possible.

 

Jesse gives him a roguish wink, “See you around, then.”

 

And he strolls lazily away into the night before Hanzo can reply.

 

Hanzo arrives to the beach house feeling sweaty and disgusting, yet decidedly mellower than he has been in possibly _years_. There’s a pleasing tingle beneath his skin that’s owed to more than just the alcohol he consumed and it’s as if his body is whispering, tantalising him with the lingering sensation of another man’s warmth before it fades away.

 

When taking his third and final shower in preparation for bed, Hanzo daydreams of playful smiles, straining plaid shirts and dark-eyed strangers who smell of ocean mist.

 

He sleeps well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Aquavit: distilled spirit that is principally produced in Scandinavia (Norwegian aquavit is usually made from potatoes and caraway seeds and matured in a wooden cask for a minimum of six months!)
> 
> And while I’m here, let me just ask that everybody refrain from touching or feeding wild baby seals!! This has been a PSA.
> 
> It’s my first time writing McHanzo, be gentle for I am fragile and delicate ;A;


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! This took longer than I thought what with life stuff, but I finally managed to finish it as a birthday present to myself, which you can all enjoy as a result :D
> 
> Tags have been updated, and this chapter earns the Explicit rating, you have been warned.

Beach season begins in earnest with crowds of tourists and locals flocking to the shores, making Hanzo exceptionally glad to own a spot he’s not required to share with any of them.

 

The past few weeks have occupied him with household repairs, landscaping and supervising machinery on what he now unquestionably considers his property, tolerating dozens of workers traipsing through it at a time. He feels drained and weary of pretending to be a mentally and emotionally stable individual before strangers in a place he’s started to call home, so he’s infinitely glad when the last of them leaves—paid, tipped and thanked.

 

Even his private beach has been thoroughly maintained; driftwood collected and properly disposed of, sand turned and rotting seaweed cleared. But Hanzo has yet to enjoy it...his energy levels are vastly depleted after the flurry of activity and he would rather spend his time at home with a bottle of regional _shōchū,_  watching the waves crash against the rocks from his bedroom, remotely controlling the temperature of his (brand new) AC to keep cool, because he can.

 

Still, boredom and a pressing need to replenish his alcohol supply has him weaving through town, claiming side streets to bypass the throngs of eager holidaymakers until he reaches a near deserted boulevard lined with small shops and restaurants.

 

A tall foreigner is standing towards the end, smoking and contemplating the ocean, and Hanzo almost falters in his step when he recognises him. He has unpacked the memory of his sexual encounter with this particular man to savour during lonely summer nights, perhaps more times than he’s ready to admit...had the recollection of that evening been a physical book it would be well-thumbed and dog-eared.

 

 _Jesse,_ he recalls, after a few seconds of wading through the fog in his brain, _his name is Jesse._

 

Hanzo is unsure how to approach a brief hookup—if he can even call it that—he never realistically expected to see again. Either he can continue on and greet him, for Jesse is standing precisely opposite the convenience store where Hanzo customarily purchases his booze and he’s quite certain he’ll be noticed upon passing by, or he can turn around and go back the way he came, avoiding interaction completely.  

 

His decision is made for him when he’s spotted. Jesse turns his head in Hanzo’s direction, gives him a lazy smile of recognition and picks up a worn, rust-coloured rucksack that had been resting by his feet to sling it over a shoulder, disposing of his cigarette and meeting Hanzo halfway down the boulevard.

 

“Hey, stranger,” he says, when the distance has closed between them, “Hanzo, right?”

 

Hanzo ignores the warmth that spreads in his chest from being remembered.

 

“Yes. I—how are you enjoying your summer?” Hanzo asks and instantly cringes. He has proudly upheld a historic loathing for inane small talk and yet here he stands...a _contributor_. Years of social isolation have not been kind to his conversational skills and neither is his current sobriety helping any, but Jesse doesn’t seem to mind his struggling and offers him a charming smile.

 

“It’s been great, the locals have treated me _real_ good.”

 

Jesse’s flirtatious tone and the way the afternoon light is aiding in making him look as devastatingly attractive as Hanzo can possibly find him, propels him to act.

 

“Would you care to join me for a drink?” Hanzo asks, before he can stop himself.

 

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, for Jesse’s eyes widen and his mouth hangs open in surprise and Hanzo _regrets_. He’s about to apologise when Jesse recovers, putting the smile back on his face.

 

“Well, that’s kind of you, Hanzo, but I was just about to leave town for a while. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

 

“Oh. I see.” Hanzo tries not to feel discouraged. “Another time, perhaps.”

 

Jesse nods and then rubs the back of his neck. _Nervously?_ Hanzo clears his throat in preparation to flee and thus avoid further embarrassment.

 

“Well then, I must—”

 

“Won’t say no to some noodles, though.”

 

Hanzo is blindsided by this interruption and blinks, slowly assimilating it. Jesse merely follows up with an expectant gaze.

 

Hanzo takes a moment to look Jesse up and down, considering.

 

“Come with me,” he says, already moving with a destination in mind and Jesse falls into step beside him, grinning.

 

Hanzo’s alcohol supply can wait.

 

 

The tables at Hanzo’s preferred ramen spot are already occupied by the time they arrive so they sit side-by-side at the bar, right by the comforting noise of the kitchen. Hanzo orders for them both and additionally requests some chilled sake, downing his first cup with relish.

 

Jesse wastes no time in completely disregarding Hanzo’s personal space, sitting so near that their thighs are pressed together, something he can easily dismiss when drunk but he is yet to become that for a good while.

 

Hanzo pointedly clears his throat at the overfamiliarity and Jesse good-naturedly complies with putting a little more distance between them, accompanying the gesture with an impish grin—much like a child who has been caught making mischief.

 

This allows Hanzo a brief opportunity to study the man’s face more closely. Jesse’s hair is lighter than he remembers, glints of copper where it’s lit by the setting sun and a few grey hairs threading through the rest, giving Hanzo reason to suspect they may be closer in age than he thought. He notices other things; freckles, crow’s feet, a small scar bisecting an eyebrow and a dimpled smile that Hanzo—up until this precise moment—was unaware he had a weakness for.

 

He’s suddenly stricken with something akin to panic and distracts himself from over-analysing it by topping up the sake in both his and Jesse’s cups.

 

As soon as their ramen arrives they enjoy it with single minded focus for the first few slurps. Jesse is handling his chopsticks and his spicy seafood ramen extremely well, prompting Hanzo to deduce that he’s not a complete stranger to these parts. Halfway through their bowls, a tentative conversation starts.

 

Hanzo does not trouble himself to ask Jesse about his personal life since he certainly won’t volunteer the details of his own. Despite this, Hanzo learns that Jesse has in fact visited this area of Japan often and liked it immensely, saying “the food’s good and the people are always happy to help a one-armed _gaikokujin_ ,” mangling the pronunciation of this last word so horribly that Hanzo bodily winces, causing Jesse to bark out a laugh and offer his apologies.

 

Along with the gradual awakening of his long-dormant sense of humour (it’s been _years_ since he has managed to make anyone laugh and he feels a stirring of pleasure when Jesse does so at one of his dry remarks), Hanzo slowly starts to feel more real, and it matters not that the person sitting beside him is temporary and transient, the fact that he’s there at all proves that Hanzo is _alive_.

 

Once their bowls and sake cups are empty, and satisfied that he will have at least made an acquaintance if nothing else, Hanzo suggests that they exchange contact details and Jesse starts a little, as if only just remembering that this was something people did, reaching into his pocket and producing a battered phone with a screen so cracked it looked like it would crumble into dust if anyone so much as blinked at it. Hanzo struggles to keep his face neutral and fails.

 

Jesse takes one look at him and grimaces. “Yeah, this one’s been on more adventures’n I have.”

 

Unable to remember his own number, Jesse sends a quick text to Hanzo’s instead: a single winky face. They pay and vacate their stools, stepping outside into a considerably cooler evening that smells of ocean and a softly fading day.

 

Jesse releases a little sigh. “Best be goin’,” he turns to Hanzo, eyes and voice warm, “this was nice, I appreciate it.”

 

Without any warning whatsoever, Jesse dips his head and Hanzo reacts automatically by stepping backwards and out of his way, realising what it was Jesse meant to do a split second too late.

 

“You—”

 

“Just tryin’ to kiss you, sorry,” Jesse says, looking appropriately sheepish, “I should’ve asked first.”

 

All Hanzo can think to utter is, “Oh,” before leaning forward and pressing his lips briefly to Jesse’s.

 

It’s chaste, warm and most unexpectedly of all, _electrifying_. He pulls back and finds his surprise mirrored in Jesse’s expression but before Hanzo has the chance to even formulate a thought, he’s drawn in again with a heavy hand on the back of his neck.

 

This second kiss is much less chaste—deep, rough and hungry with burning touches of tongue, making Hanzo want _intensely._

 

“When do you have to leave?” Hanzo asks, emboldened, once they separate.

 

Jesse understands immediately, “I can make time for whatever you want,” and the hoarseness in his voice excites Hanzo further.

 

Hanzo leads him through the streets again, this time feeling substantially more aroused.

 

And with one surreptitious glance downwards he’s able to confirm that Jesse is too.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hanzo finds himself on his back upon a hotel bed, cock engulfed by a scorching, searing mouth and three slick fingers pumping into his ass. He’s still wearing socks and his long-sleeved shirt is rolled up to his armpits but he’s too blitzed with lust to feel self-conscious about this and the fact that his—very enthusiastic—partner remains fully clothed.

 

He tangles a hand in Jesse’s hair and encourages him to suck harder, faster, which Jesse does so obligingly, picking up the pace with his relentlessly pistoning fingers until Hanzo keens and shoots come down his throat. Wiping his mouth with his forearm, Jesse immediately straddles Hanzo’s thighs, unzips his straining jeans and takes himself in hand, jerking aggressively for no longer than ten seconds before his hot spend is decorating Hanzo’s belly, emitting a low moan that Hanzo faintly echoes.

 

Hanzo is particular about other people’s bodily fluids and it shows on his face as the mess on his stomach begins to cool. Jesse huffs a laugh and heaves himself over to the bathroom, emerging with a warm, damp towel which Hanzo gratefully receives. While he mops himself up, he watches Jesse remove his clothes, mouth going dry at the broad, powerful figure he makes with a muscular back, thick tanned thighs and the hairiest, most grope-worthy chest Hanzo has ever seen. He additionally notices many distinct patterns of scars scattered across Jesse’s body, some of them alarmingly resembling bite marks—much too large to belong to any human or domesticated animal—and Hanzo wonders not for the first time what sort of career (or, more worryingly, hobby) Jesse might have.

 

“Still got another round left in me, if you’re good for it.” Jesse comments as he catches Hanzo staring. Hanzo attempts to play it cool by smirking and removing his own shirt except Jesse’s eyes widen as they latch onto the rich art adorning Hanzo’s left arm.

 

Hanzo makes a jerky motion but Jesse grabs him by the wrist with a quick “Whoa there,” forcing him to keep still long enough to get a good look. Hanzo bears this inspection determinedly, defensively even, while he awaits judgement...but there is none. Jesse trails a finger down the twining body of a dragon and then meets Hanzo’s eyes.

 

“Sexy.”

 

Hanzo feels stupidly relieved. _Foreigners._

 

Jesse releases him and stretches out fully on the bed. “So, how long we got the room for?”

 

“A few more hours at least.”

 

Jesse smiles and pats the space beside him. Hanzo drinks in the mouth-watering sight of his body: large, warm...inviting. _And big trouble,_ a voice in Hanzo’s head warns as he tentatively lies down with his back to Jesse’s chest.

 

“Just a few minutes, I ain’t as young as I used to be.” Jesse says, inching closer so that they’re touching. “This okay?” he asks, arm hovering over Hanzo’s side, awaiting permission.

 

“Yes.”

 

Hanzo feels a contented huff against the back of his neck as the arm wraps around his torso and it dawns on him that he’s being cuddled, the realisation producing so much self-awareness that he struggles to reign in his racing thoughts enough to wind down and join Jesse, who has already begun to snore. After a few moments of lying rigid in a stranger’s embrace, he feels himself gradually slip away.

 

 

Hanzo wakes up twenty minutes later to his ass being lazily fondled, and protests at this treatment with a grunt (his brain-to-mouth connection is currently offline and coherent sentences are quite an impossibility), but the hand doesn’t stop—in fact it grows bolder.

 

He shoots a glare over his shoulder and is surprised at having to urgently contain a laugh when he spots Jesse successfully managing to look both cheeky and endearing with a sleepy, closed-eyed grin.

 

_Big, big trouble._

 

The feeling of panic he had experienced at the ramen restaurant flits through Hanzo again, but the warm, heavy weight of Jesse’s cock pressing insistently against his ass has him feverishly choosing to fully appreciate the other man’s girth because he may never have another opportunity, so he presses back.

 

“Fuck me,” Hanzo commands. He gets a sharp inhale and a whispered “ _Happy_ to,” before he’s pushed face-down into the mattress and slicked up once more.

 

Jesse breathes out an almost awed sound when he slowly inches his way inside as though unprepared for how good it would feel, yet Hanzo barely registers this—he’s too busy being deliciously split open by hot, thick flesh. He seldom finds himself on the receiving end, much less held down by a strong hand on the back of his neck or attempting to spread his thighs wider than they can possibly go. He feels every swollen ridge, every exquisite drag against his insides, every pounding impact to his prostate and he hastens his pleasure by snaking a hand beneath himself and furiously fisting his own cock, moans muffled by the pillow. His climax hits like a freight train and as he’s cresting he feels the moment Jesse’s own orgasm arrives—pulsing hot and wet over Hanzo’s ass and back.

 

They spend some minutes collapsed against each other and catching their breath before heading off to shower separately. Hanzo ensures he does so first and collects his haphazardly strewn clothing when Jesse takes his turn to wash, frowning because his thighs are trembling and his chest feels tight. He finds himself wishing they could have more time.

 

When Jesse flings open the bathroom door and steps out to gather his things, he’s already distant and clearly wanting to be on his way and they finish dressing in silence, occasionally handing over personal items and accessories that had fallen or gotten misplaced in their passionate removal.  

 

Jesse offers him a nod and a polite smile and finally leaves with an “I’ll call you,” but Hanzo, swallowing disappointment, doesn’t believe him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jesse calls a week later while Hanzo nurses a disastrous hangover in his bathroom and he’s so bewildered by the caller ID on his phone screen that he doesn’t answer, throwing up in the toilet bowl he has been embracing like a lover for the past hour instead.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite initial communication issues, the two of them agree to meet for dinner at a sushi bar of Hanzo’s choosing a few days later, where the fish is fresh and the alcohol of excellent quality.

 

Hanzo very deliberately chooses to wear a thin, navy blue sweater that would probably have fit him more comfortably were he a couple of sizes down, but was currently doing an excellent job of emphasising some of his best assets. Jesse’s appreciative gaze lingers on those and Hanzo quietly—and smugly—congratulates himself.

 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on Jesse being so completely irresistible with the top buttons of his shirt undone and hairy chest peeking, his tanned throat bared. Hanzo feels he should be focused on something that _isn’t_ Jesse but he can’t remember what it is.

 

“So, uh...I’d order but I’m pretty sure I’ll end up with somethin’ I don’t want or can’t afford,” Jesse chuckles.

 

Flustered, Hanzo forces his attention towards ordering enough food for several people (at least four) and some sake to get started on immediately. The men quietly sip, scoping out the interior of the restaurant along with its clientele—a majority of affectionate couples, much to Hanzo’s chagrin—and the silence lengthens until it becomes awkward. Hanzo starts to _feel_ awkward; unsure how to proceed and what action to take...which words to say after just a couple of intimate encounters. He’s not in the habit of pursuing romantic interests, if this even counts as one. He barely knows this man.

 

 _But that’s not stopping you from wanting to_ , says a sly voice in his head, sounding disturbingly like Genji. He risks a glance at Jesse, sitting across from him and watching the table beside theirs receive their orders while very handsomely fidgeting with one of the top buttons of his shirt. Hanzo is firmly reminded of his interest and adjusts his seating as discreetly as he’s able.

 

 _I can allow myself this_ , Hanzo reiterates, like he’s had to every single time he’s faced with something he desires but conditioned throughout his life to deny himself.

 

He stares down at his hands just to occupy his eyes with something else, becoming blatantly aware of the fact that he has not enjoyed a proper manicure since his time as _kumichō_ and in the space of a millisecond manages to convince himself that Jesse will notice his short, self-groomed fingernails and deem him _barbaric._

 

“Feels kinda like a date,” Jesse finally comments, interrupting these rapidly spiralling thoughts, then raises a hand defensively when Hanzo’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

 

“Not a bad thing! Never been treated so good by a handsome fella before,” he rubs the back of his neck—which Hanzo now recognises as a nervous habit, “makes me real sorry I had to go so fast, y’know...last time.”

 

Hanzo, anxieties over barbaric fingernails vehemently thrown from his mind, remembers being left alone in a hotel room post-coitus quite distinctly. He clears his throat. “You can redeem yourself by paying most of the bill.”

 

Jesse lifts one shoulder in a shrug, grinning. “Guess that’s fair.”

 

Hanzo stares at the curve of his mouth for a few seconds more than he should. Jesse’s gaze is twinkling when he meets it.

 

“Will you be staying in Japan for much longer?” Hanzo dares to ask, bolstered by a mouthful of sake.

 

“Just ‘til the end of summer,” Jesse answers vaguely, similarly emptying his cup and setting it down for Hanzo to refill, “but you got my number,” he adds, his cheeky dimpled smile dangerously appealing. Hanzo chooses to offer him an unimpressed snort in response—one refined by years of practice—as a means to protect himself from it.

 

Even though Hanzo’s disappointment is sharp at discovering how little he has left to enjoy Jesse’s company, he feels better equipped now to prepare for his impending loneliness. He will not chase, and he will not attempt to control the outcomes of things he has no right to. Hanzo violently refuses to be like _them_.

 

From the corner of his eye he spies their food approaching and he sets his thoughts aside for the time being.

 

Their assortment of sushi forms a remarkable spread over the table, and both men waste no time making a considerable dent in it. Words start to flow a bit easier, now that most of the awkwardness has dissipated, replaced instead with the resolve to stuff their faces and imbibe crisp regional lager after their sake runs dry.

 

During a lull in conversation, Hanzo notices that Jesse—with a mouth full of _tako_ _nigiri_ —has begun to stare, and Hanzo would be amused by the way he looks, cheeks puffed and brows knitted with concentration, were it not for his growing concern over suddenly finding himself the object of intense scrutiny.

 

Jesse narrows his eyes at Hanzo, swallows, and points his chopsticks at him.

 

“Drunk fella from the beach.”

 

Hanzo pushes the offending chopsticks away with an index finger, “Excuse me?”

 

Jesse sits back, beaming. “That’s why I had a feelin’ like we met before. Drunk fella from the beach!”

 

A hazy memory begins to take shape in Hanzo’s mind, because he _does_ recall being drunk on a beach at a specific moment in time but there was only _one_ way Jesse could have possibly known that.  

 

Jesse continues, nodding at Hanzo’s jewellery, “You didn’t have all of that n’ your hair was different, but I’m willin’ to bet everythin’ I got that you’re the same guy. Remember, I woke you up ‘cause—”

 

“The naked man...” Hanzo says as realisation dawns, and he slowly lowers his forehead until it rests upon the table.

 

Jesse lets out a bark-like laugh and reaches across to clap Hanzo on the back. “C’mon, Hanzo! I’m just glad we finally figured this out, it’s been buggin’ me for _weeks_.”  

 

Hanzo's gravelly voice is muffled by the table, “I apologise for my incredible rudeness.”

 

The hand on his back rubs in comforting circular motions and Hanzo hears the amusement in Jesse’s voice.

 

“And I’m sorry for very nakedly saving your life.”

 

Hanzo responds by pressing his forehead harder against the polished wood surface and emitting a low, embarrassed growl.

 

“Jokes aside, I didn’t know I was trespassin’ at the time. Just found a quiet spot to swim and didn’t really think about it...I get stared at in most places and I don’t take kindly to that,” Jesse shrugs, “I saw the tide comin’ in and you weren’t wakin’ up on your own so I figured you needed a little poke.”

 

Hanzo eventually straightens with a sigh. He imagines that with his injuries, Jesse would find more reason than most to prefer somewhere private. He bites back an invitation, ready on the tip of his tongue, for Jesse to continue using his beach. Again, knowing Jesse intimately doesn’t equate with knowing him well. He will not, however, forget his manners.

 

“Thank you for the, ah, poke.”

 

The cheeky smile reappears, “There’s more where that came from.”

 

This earns Jesse some gruff laughter and a shake of a head. There’s a considerable silence afterwards, during which the remaining pieces of sashimi are consumed and the last drops of beer are drunk. Jesse sounds pensive when he next speaks.

 

“So...you actually own all that bit.”

 

“Yes,” Hanzo replies, and leaves it at that. Jesse doesn’t need his complicated, convoluted history, nor does he deserve even more complicated, convoluted lies.

 

Hanzo feels the vibrations of Jesse’s restless leg beneath the table. He seems uncharacteristically anxious, which Hanzo does not know how to approach him about, so he attributes it to nerves. Jesse catches sight of his furrowed brow and gives him a quick smile.

 

“Ain’t nothin’...just givin’ a mental note to myself for the next time I see a gorgeous man lyin’ in the sand all by his lonesome.”

 

Hanzo knows when he’s being misdirected, but he would be the world’s biggest hypocrite if he made something out of it. _He must have his reasons, just as I do._

 

Jesse slaps a hand down on the table. “Alright! Who’s pickin’ up the tab tonight?

 

“You.”

 

“Damn right I am.”

 

And he does, even though Hanzo—while insisting that he had been joking—offers to pay half.

 

 

 

“I really like you, Hanzo,” Jesse sighs into Hanzo’s mouth, after enjoying Hanzo’s tongue down his throat for the better part of five minutes. “An’ I don’t know what to do about that.”

 

They kiss languidly outside the restaurant for a while longer; mouths sliding, tongues entwining, beards scraping, hands wandering and squeezing. Hanzo does not know what to do either, except continue kissing and touching Jesse for as long as he can.

 

“You’re startin’ to make me wanna stay a while longer.” Jesse whispers when they part, and he brushes the tip of Hanzo’s nose with his own.

 

His words please and frustrate Hanzo in equal measure, as he’s reminded that whatever they have or whatever this is will be cut short very soon and he has little notion of what possibly awaits Jesse wherever he’ll be returning to: a commitment, a job...a family.

 

So instead of parroting something similar back to him—and goodness knows he’d like to, under the influence of such a spectacular make out session—Hanzo responds by breathing a suggestion over Jesse’s lips before taking the bottom one between his teeth, biting softly. The low moan of assent he receives is more than enough to convince him that he’s made the right decision.

 

They leave together, bodies vibrating with lust, alcohol and promise, and Hanzo has to fight back the overwhelming desire to grasp the hand that brushes against his as they walk.

 

 

Hours later, in another hotel room and atop a bed with once-pristine sheets, Hanzo wakes to Jesse mumbling in his sleep.

 

“Gotta go. Gotta.”

 

And Hanzo asks, “Where?” with the generous dose of stupidity supplied by abrupt consciousness.

 

He waits and starts to doze off in the silence that follows when he receives a quiet reply.

 

“Away.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Summer leisurely enters its twilight and Hanzo has not been able to stop thinking about Jesse. In fact, he’s thinking about Jesse so much that he can even smell the brand of cigarettes that he’s accustomed to smoking.

 

Hanzo pauses mid-step and sniffs at the breeze, frowning. He has recently taken to re-exploring the faded coastal paths he had walked decades ago as a boy, before colder weather and winds arrive. Today he had been enjoying such a walk before getting distracted by a faint, familiar scent of tobacco.

 

 _It could be anyone,_ Hanzo thinks. The scent vanishes as soon as he catches it and Hanzo, slightly ashamed, marks it down as another product of his daydreams. _Ridiculous._

 

He continues along the meandering, cliff-side footpath towards the network of caves he’s certain will be waiting for him at the end of it, settling nostalgically into memories of his childhood, of familiar places traversed with his brother and playfully enhanced by their combined imagination. It was doing him good to remember.

 

There hasn’t been another meeting with Jesse since the sushi restaurant, just a handful of suggestive texts and one or two calls in the weeks that followed, but nothing immediately recent. Hanzo wonders if Jesse has already left Japan, ignoring the sinking feeling of his stomach at the very thought. Jesse’s number in his phone is a burning opportunity, but Hanzo has never been the one to initiate contact the few times they've spoken through this medium, and he isn’t about to start now...it would only complicate things.

 

He finally reaches a rocky entrance, nestled behind layers of foliage, and he indulges in a sparkle of boyish pleasure upon discovering that the way is clear along the tunnel through to the coves—allegedly frequented by pirates and spies and sailors alike, as his father had so animatedly recounted many years ago.

 

Steps have been cut into the stone centuries before, and Hanzo takes care not to slip and break his neck, all the while amusing himself in the humid darkness thinking of potential headlines that Genji might end up reading if he actually did, finally settling on ‘ _Killer Ex-Mob Boss Bested by Stairs’._

 

The stagnant air begins to sharpen the lower he climbs and the sound of the sea grows louder the closer he gets to the main cove itself. The steps gradually melt into sand and rock and he stands there for a moment where they end, stands in this tiny, ancient pocket of coast to behold what will soon be a glorious sunset.

 

Hanzo picks his way through the jagged rocks and across soft, dry sand, approaching lapping water and a teasing breeze. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, filling his lungs. Then he puts his hands in his pockets and quietly watches the sun’s slow descent into the ocean, briefly wishing he had a drink or a smoke to enjoy it with...and perhaps some company as well, except it felt like he wasn’t completely alone, surrounded as he is, _alive_ as he is. He skips stones over the gently rising tide until the shadows begin to lengthen, dusting off sand and turning around to make his way out before it gets too late.

 

A glint of something in the corner of his eye forces him to stop. He thinks it a creature and waits in deathly stillness for some movement but there isn’t any, so he edges towards it a little. He pauses a few feet away and from this distance he can make out some kind of animal skin, or something that greatly resembles one, tucked between the rocks.

 

Hanzo hesitates, looks around briefly and then lets curiosity get the better of him. The skin is drawing him in; dark fur that’s rich and smooth and shiny, thick like velvet, shimmering red-gold as it reflects the last of the sun’s light. _Who or what could have left this here?_

 

He prods at it and confirms that it feels about as luxurious as it looks, and perhaps more solid than he first thought, until he lifts one edge and finds a familiar rust-coloured rucksack hidden under it.

 

Frowning, he carefully pulls the fur— _pelt?_ —away from the pack, revealing as he does a collection of wallets, passports, dozens of IDs, cigarettes and several more water-damaged items hoarded within. He experiences a profound sense of foreboding as he sifts warily through the contents with one hand, holding the animal skin firmly in the other. He recognises none of the faces or names from any of the documents and unearths not a single weapon, but he’s perceptive enough, after years of surviving as a wanted man, to know what this looks like.

 

The sound of breathing alerts Hanzo to a presence seconds before someone melts out of the shadows.

 

“I’d hand that over if I were you.”

 

 _It was too good to be true,_ is Hanzo’s last thought as he slowly straightens and fully faces the man he knows as Jesse, with an expression wiped clean of the suspicion and confusion he feels.

 

“Who are you,” Hanzo demands. Jesse’s mouth twists into a sneer, and it’s as if his whole self has twisted also.

 

“Y’know for a guy so anal about his property you sure are quick to disrespect someone else’s,” he says, approaching Hanzo lazily and stopping just a few paces away. The sunset casts harsh, menacing shadows upon his face and Hanzo appreciates this—along with Jesse’s comment—not one bit. Hanzo reflexively tightens his fist around the fur and Jesse’s hand twitches.

 

“Hm,” Hanzo says, noticing the movement and offering a sneer of his own, “this is valuable to you.”

 

“Yeah, it’s mine, and you need to give it back.”

 

Hanzo gestures to the rucksack and its dubious contents on the ground by his feet, his anger climbing, “And this...also yours?”

 

“Don’t think it’s any of your business—”

 

“Do not take me for a _fool_ ,” Hanzo snarls, “you have no _idea_ who you’re dealing with, and for your sake I hope you do not _lie_.”

 

Jesse raises a placating hand, “Alright...I’ll answer your questions, an’ I won’t lie,” he moves forward a pace, “but gimme that skin first.”

 

He waits for Hanzo’s acquiescence or at least some sort of reaction but Hanzo doesn’t deliver. He holds fast to the skin, stubborn and unmoving. _If he wants it, he will have to come here and take it._

 

Jesse takes a deliberate step forward, then a second and a third, reaching out for the pelt and closing a hand over it, but Hanzo will not let go easily. Their eyes lock, like those of two predators waiting for one to roll and show his belly to the other. But Jesse finally makes a move, resting his forehead weakly upon Hanzo’s shoulder, turning his face into his neck and pleading, “Hanzo...please. Give it to me.”

 

Stunned by how genuinely pained he sounds, Hanzo slowly releases the fur into Jesse’s grasp, and receives a deep sigh of relief in return.

 

Then Jesse— _if that’s even his real name_ —backs off, hard-eyed. “That was a shitty thing to do. You been followin’ me?”

 

“Have _you_?” Hanzo asks, indignant at the very accusation, but also immensely confused. Jesse does not act at all like an assassin, neither does he display any ill intention now that he’s gotten what he wanted, but Hanzo has admittedly let his guard down too often as of late and gotten complacent as a result...it could be his last mistake.

 

“No,” Jesse snorts and for some bizarre reason he starts to undress, “an’ that’s the truth.”

 

His shirt drops into the sand, closely followed by his belt and jeans. The cove is almost completely submerged in shadow and Jesse is enveloped by it just as he removes the last item of clothing and drapes the fur over himself like a cape. Hanzo catches the way his demeanour appears to shift, the way his eyes seem larger and blacker, even reflective in the dark much like a cat’s—it’s eerie, unnerving and Hanzo is abruptly hit with the thought that he may possibly, _actually_ be in danger.

 

“ _Who_ _are you_ ,” he repeats, adrenaline sharpening his tone. It hasn’t been too long since he last killed a man using his bare hands.

 

“I ain’t nobody,” Jesse’s voice seems lower, more guttural, “but I’m partial to Jesse.”

 

And as he’s speaking he seems to crouch, or hunch over—Hanzo is unable to determine which, what with his surroundings blending together in the dying light—until he can barely see Jesse at all, hearing only the sounds of something dragging and then splashing heavily into the water.

 

“What—”

 

Hanzo—throwing his sense of self-preservation to the wind—bounds from rock to rock and reaches the cove’s mouth as it swallows more and more of the tide, expecting flailing limbs, a drowning man, _some kind of joke_ —anything other than a dark head bobbing for a few moments before it vanishes beneath the waves, its skin gleaming the same red-gold as the one he’d held in his hands.

 

Seal.

 

 _A fucking_ _seal_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOOOOOOOHH
> 
> btw the best dates are built on good food.
> 
> The next (and last!) chapter will be a while in coming as it's 70% notes right now, but I hope to have it posted soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses for taking this long but to give you an idea of why I did: I moved country, lost a family member, moved city and then moved house while also dealing with work and other irl issues. It's been a rough six months. 
> 
> Tags have been updated and mistakes are my own! Enjoy the final slappy instalment.

Hanzo has many questions.

 

He faces the open ocean—having nothing else to offer it but intense consternation for a good ten minutes—eventually turning around and heading back into the cove, where he stares in disbelief at the clothing strewn in the sand and the rucksack lying on its side, contents spilled like an unfortunate murder victim.

 

Before he’s even aware of what he’s doing, he has stuffed everything—clothes and all—inside the pack, shouldering it and channelling the remaining burst of adrenaline pumping through his body into power-climbing out of the cove in near-complete darkness, then power-walking the two-and-a-half miles home on autopilot...mind racing for the entire duration.

 

It is an elaborate prank. He will be featured on some notorious reality TV show, his reaction caught on camera for the entertainment of an entire nation. He’ll be humiliated, Genji will likely have to kill him to preserve whatever honour their family has left...but at least this fantasy chain of events sounds more plausible to him than getting swept up in an _affair_ with a seal-man.

 

By the time he arrives to the beach house, he’s half-managed to convince himself that if he concentrates hard enough he won’t hyperventilate.

 

He pauses at the front gate, frowning. If not a prank, then what? A scientific experiment? Has he been fucking a man who becomes a seal or a seal who is sometimes a man? Which of the two makes him feel less like a degenerate? At this line of thinking Hanzo’s agitation heightens despite his best efforts.

 

No. He must surely be on drugs.

 

Hanzo shakes his head with considerable force and inputs the entry code using fingers that only slightly tremble.

 

The first thing he does when he enters is sit on the edge of his bed, balance his laptop precariously on one knee and initiate what will be a long night of research—accompanied by generous amounts of _shōchū._

 

He does not possess any knowledge on western legends beyond the superficial, nor has he ever had reason in the past to delve any deeper into lore of this kind but after the day he’s had and the things he has seen, he feverishly hopes that at some point he will wake up and realise it was all a stupid dream, rather than fill his head with selkies just because he may have possibly fucked one.

 

Unfortunately he does not wake. Instead, he collides with a burning wall of shame when he discovers that the running theme of selkie legend involves humans of dubious intent withholding seal pelts from their rightful owners, thus trapping them and forcing them into a warped, domesticated existence. Hanzo slaps shut his laptop and tosses it away on the bed in disgust.

 

 _It’s not real. Somewhere, there is a logical explanation,_ he thinks somewhat desperately, feeling utterly repulsed at himself for wishing this if only to allow himself to forget the way he had behaved in the coves.

 

And if no logical explanation exists, he would have to accept the fact that the only balm to his loneliness so far has been some sort of vivid hallucination conjured up by his brain, doped up on coping mechanisms and self-pity. And it undoubtedly would have been his conclusion, were it not for the very real and very solid rust-coloured rucksack sitting mockingly at the foot of his bed where he last dropped it.

 

A few moments pass with Hanzo intensely glaring as if he could intimidate answers out of it. He gulps down the rest of the _shōchū_ in his glass, pours himself another, and then moves to examine the rucksack inside out...but like its owner it remains infuriatingly vague. It certainly does not reveal anything about Jesse’s... _condition._ He checks out the IDs and other stolen documents, running them through various databases and confirming that most, if not all, belong to individuals still living, lending more to Hanzo’s strengthening belief that he must have been involved with some kind of con man or fraudster.

 

 _Who is also a seal_.

 

Hanzo rubs a hand over his face, frustrated, before jumping almost a foot in the air at the sudden and violent buzzing of his phone on the nightstand. He snatches it away, drops it, picks it up with an irritated growl and answers in the space of a few seconds.

 

He regrets his decision when a familiar voice blasts through.

 

“Did you die or something because you haven’t called me or even texted me back in _two whole months,_ you piece of shit.”

 

“Hello, Genji.”

 

“Oh, now it’s ‘hello, Genji’. Fuck you.”

 

Hanzo can admit to treating his brother’s messages and missed calls as too monumental a task to undertake, always postponed or left for later until he forgot about them entirely. And Genji’s timing was never convenient, tonight being a prime example.

 

Still, Hanzo forces out an apology and receives an exasperated sigh for his trouble.

 

“I just want to know how you’re doing. It’s been _ten years_ ,” Genji reminds him and this admonishment, coupled with the fact that today may be the third worst of Hanzo’s life, makes him feel perfectly inadequate as a human being.

 

“How was Brazil,” Hanzo says instead, stomach roiling with guilt.

 

“Brazil was fine, I got back home like three weeks ago, which you would have known if you’d checked your”—there’s a muffled, frustrated noise followed by a deep breath before Genji continues, voice much calmer and controlled—“that’s okay, you had to deal with shit. What I wanted to say is you should visit me here in Hong Kong.”

 

“Genji…” Hanzo pinches the bridge of his nose, right where an ache has begun to radiate, “I don’t need—”

 

“Hanzo, c’mon. At least for a week or two, the change of pace will do you good. You’ll go mad in that house all by yourself after too long.”

 

A bubble of hysterical laughter rises in Hanzo’s chest at the absurd notion of telling Genji that he’s already reached the point of madness because today his casual hook-up revealed himself to be a _seal_ that apparently commits _fraud_.

 

Genji interprets his silence as a dismissal and huffs an annoyed sigh, “Fine. Whatever. Just ...you’re not alone anymore. I am with you, yeah?”

 

Hanzo swallows hard, “I will...accept your invitation at a later date.”

 

“Good.”

 

There’s a brief pause before Genji asks, “Are you sure you’re okay?” to which Hanzo replies that he is and is met with a sceptical hum followed by parting words of, “Answer my fucking texts, you bastard,” before being gleefully hung up on.

 

Hanzo drops his phone back on the nightstand and returns to the mess of the rucksack that he’d upturned onto the bed. He grabs a handful of wallets and throws them viciously at the wall with a snarl, then rips his bedspread off, bunches it into a ball and launches it to the farthest corner of the room, documents spilling and clattering to the floor.

 

 _Tomorrow,_ he swears, crawling into bed, _tomorrow I’ll deal with it._

  


He wakes early, in the way one does after spending almost an entire night staring at the ceiling as darkness slowly gives way to dawn.

 

Breakfast is knocked down from his list of priorities to be replaced by furious exercise in Genji’s old room. He had temporarily begun housing his training equipment there but it ended up staying longer, accidentally converting into a gym of sorts—small but suited to his needs. And it wasn’t as if Genji would be needing his room any time soon.

 

After cycling through his katas and sets possibly a dozen times, Hanzo wipes the sweat from his brow and marches outside with a grim determination to shoot something. He sets up targets, brings out his guns and lastly his compound bow—a weapon he loves above the rest despite its impracticality—and it’s not until the targets resemble moth-eaten pincushions and the sun rises to its highest point in the sky that he feels composed enough to try eating.

  


The following days blend together with Hanzo in suspended disbelief. He doesn’t touch the research on his laptop, he hides the rucksack where he cannot see it and spends his time drinking, training and actively avoiding thoughts relating to hot summer evenings spent in the arms of someone who might not even exist.

  
  


The all-consuming fury hits him almost a week after the incident.

 

Hanzo storms to his beach with single minded resolve.The plan is to clear his head, freshen the stagnant air in his lungs, manage his rage with calm and controlled purpose...but the first thing he does when he reaches the shore is pick up as many stones as he can at once and hurl them at the sea.

 

Stone after stone, rock after rock, Hanzo’s anger escalates at the wholly unsatisfying _plop_ of each projectile as it hits the water.

 

Of course. Of _course._

 

 _Of course_ he could never be worthy of even a semblance of happiness, the mere whiff of a good thing barely earned in the first place. _Of course_ the progress he had been making would come undone in the blink of an eye. Of _course_ he would invest his time and emotion into a fantasy man—or whatever kind of man, creature or con Jesse was. And Hanzo _let_ himself be conned.

 

Jesse, who had found him drunk right here at this very beach; Jesse, who had charmed Hanzo into sharing his body and more besides. _Of course._

 

_It’s what I deserve._

 

Hanzo’s pant legs are drenched as he wades out into the water and heaves the last of the rocks as far as his strength allows. The sea is cool and it swirls around his calves, pushing and pulling at him, draining the violence vibrating within him. Hanzo heaves a frustrated breath and brushes his hair out of his eyes with a wet hand.

 

A collection of seal heads bob in the distance and Hanzo’s stomach clenches when he spots them. They watch him. Hanzo, in his irrational state, does not appreciate this at all.

 

“Leave me be!” he barks, baring his teeth.

 

Naturally, they do not heed him. _For they are animals and I am the only one here capable of reason, yet I seem to have lost it,_ Hanzo thinks, fresh rage surging upwards until it takes over.

 

He snaps.

 

He wades in further, aware that he is making a grand fool of himself but not finding it within him to care, his impulse control weakened by lack of sleep and overindulgence of alcohol. He is neck deep when he pushes off with this feet and swims the rest of the way, going as far out as he dares while cursing and spitting out the salt water that surges into his mouth with each stroke.

 

All except one of the seals disappear at his aggressive approach and that single, remaining seal gives Hanzo pause. He’s panting from the swim and the effort of staying afloat...it is still quite a distance away but Hanzo has enough regard for his mortal life to avoid venturing so dangerously far out to sea by himself. Seal and man consider each other for a few moments and Hanzo is certain that a creature willing to endure a human’s presence for so long is not as wild or as untrusting as it should be. Before he can adscribe more meaning to this, the bobbing head vanishes under the roll of a wave and Hanzo begins to feel quite stupid; left alone to tread water after shouting at a handful of seals he was more than ready to fight.

 

Something brushes against his leg and he inhales sharply, peering into the water at the dark shape circling him.

 

The same seal resurfaces mere feet away, cautiously watchful—much larger in size than its counterparts and gaze significantly more intelligent.

 

After some brief hesitation, Hanzo runs a hand lightly beneath the creature’s belly when it swims close enough to touch, amazed that he’s even allowed to do so. “This cannot be real,” he murmurs.

 

The seal dives back under and Hanzo’s throat convulses, strangling anything more he planned to say. A man suddenly breaks the surface, wet hair slicked back, dark eyes intense and lashes clumped with drops of seawater. Hanzo’s heart trips in his chest. _Beautiful,_ a traitorous voice in his head whispers.

 

Hanzo had so many questions, so many furiously imagined confrontations where he demands answers to them and is successful; feverish daydreams during which everything is resolved with brute force or hot sex or both...but now that he has Jesse before him, his mind is blank.  

 

“Who _are_ you?” He asks instead, echoing the last thing he’d uttered during their last meeting.

 

And answering about as evasively as he did then, Jesse shrugs, “Just a guy who’s a seal sometimes. Maybe the other way ‘round too.”

 

Jesse circles Hanzo lazily, pelt wrapped around his shoulders and trailing along behind him...Hanzo finds it hypnotic and just a little predatory. He follows Jesse with his gaze, heartbeat thundering.

 

“Why are you—? How are you...like this? Why did you come here?”

 

“S’who I am...s’what I do. I swim, I eat, I _play_ ,” Jesse accompanies this last word with a leer, “then I’m gone with the tide.”

 

“But you are still here.” Hanzo points out, eyes narrowing.

 

Another shrug, “Maybe I wanted to check up on you. See how you were doing.”

 

Hanzo feels like there may be more to unpack there but he has more pressing questions to ask first.

 

“Why did you reveal your nature to me?”

 

Jesse snorts. “That? I was just messin’ with you ‘cause you were being a dick.”

 

Hanzo feels his face burn with anger and shame. He does not know how to apologise for that, nor does he feel ready to do so just yet.

 

“And...what would have happened...had I not returned your pelt to you?”

 

“I dunno...don’t wanna find out. But I’m glad you did, even though you were an asshole about it.”

 

Hanzo barely manages to redirect the defensiveness that rushes through him, because he realises that Jesse is right...however embarrassingly catastrophic his reveal may have been for Hanzo’s mental and emotional well-being.

 

“I find it hard to believe you would willingly return here and risk facing me again after such an interaction, have you no care for your own safety?” Hanzo counters.

 

“Well,” Jesse nears him until they’re almost chest to chest, their legs brushing as they tread water, “I came back because I can’t get myself to stop thinkin’ about you.”

 

Hanzo swallows hard at the proximity and is reminded that Jesse is, in fact, very real indeed.

 

“And you’re not splashin’ away screamin’ or tryin’ to kill me and let me tell you that you’re liable to give a man the wrong idea.” He’s so close that their noses bump and they share the same air.

 

“There’s still time,” Hanzo answers, mouth dry and heart pounding.

 

This coaxes a soft laugh and Jesse briefly touches his mouth to Hanzo’s, leaving behind a faint taste of salt.

 

“There’s just somethin’ about you...I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t look at anyone or anything else ‘cause you’re all I see. You’re driving me crazy here, Hanzo.”  

 

Hanzo begins to feel dangerously seduced, plied by the honey whiskey of Jesse’s voice and the rhythmic swaying of the sea.

 

“What,” he whispers, “are you doing to me.”

 

“Not a thing, sweetheart,”Jesse murmurs in reply, “An’ I could be asking you the same.”

 

Their next kiss is tentative, but it lasts much longer and tastes about as good as Hanzo remembers...but he’s too overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings; he shouldn’t want this but he _does_. It should not even be happening but it _is_. In the short time they’ve known each other, Jesse has stripped him bare, left him raw...and all Hanzo wants is more.

 

Hanzo feels an arm slowly wind around his waist and Jesse presses his wet, scruffy cheek against Hanzo’s with a sigh, holding him through the rocking motions of the waves and relieving him of the effort of staying afloat.

 

“Truth is, I missed you. Missed lovin’ on you something fierce too...I gotta leave soon, should’ve left already in fact, but damn if you ain’t making it hard.”

 

He places a soft kiss upon Hanzo’s throat and Hanzo closes his eyes, breathing deep as he thinks on his reply.

 

“Then don’t leave,” he finally says, surprised by his own sincerity.

 

“I guess I can stick around longer for a good thing,” Jesse rumbles into his neck, nuzzling the space just below his jaw.

 

Hanzo’s pulse beats treacherously in his ears. “So can I.”

 

* * *

 

 

The waning, late August sun provides the perfect conditions for a snooze on the beach, which Hanzo indulges in upon a soft fluffy towel before he is woken by sand being flung at him.

 

A large, handsome seal—seeing that Hanzo is now conveniently awake—eagerly wriggles closer.

 

Once he has finished spitting out sand and grumbling, Hanzo gives the seal’s side a hearty slap when it reaches him, becoming mesmerised by the resulting jiggle. The seal rolls onto his back and applies a few more slaps to himself for good measure, wrangling some surprised laughter from Hanzo who has begun to learn just how playful Jesse can be in this form. Hanzo savours the wholesome enjoyment he gains during the rare moments he can interact freely with him, often slipping into endearments (none that he would ever speak aloud to a human Jesse) which are received by dark, knowing eyes.

 

Jesse visits the beach quite often now—if somewhat unpredictably—and Hanzo is slowly growing accustomed to the duality of what he is, adapting to certain things faster than others. It seems to Hanzo that Jesse is being cautious with his trust and presence and Hanzo is just as careful, letting Jesse come to him first. It is a change from his previous impulsiveness when he thought he was dealing with a human foreigner...he has not invited Jesse for another drink, dinner or fuck since before the Cove Incident.

 

Their meetings in town become sparse in favour of limiting their interactions to Hanzo’s property, which is something of a relief...keeping up appearances in public was exhausting enough for Hanzo on his solitary ventures, without the addition of another man’s secrets.

 

Hanzo does not know how exclusive Jesse is, and decides to never ask. Jesse spends more time away than with him and Hanzo has ultimately concluded that he must not be the only person to gain the attentions of someone as captivating as Jesse is...seal or no. Still, the thought invites a reflexive jealousy to roil unpleasantly somewhere among his internal organs, but Hanzo has dealt with this many times in the past regarding objects of his desire that he has found himself holding onto with a grip inherited from a long line of controlling Shimadas.

 

 _Not this one. I will not be able to keep him,_ Hanzo reminds himself, swallowing the burning in his throat.

 

Jesse shudders out of his pelt and Hanzo is too fascinated to look away, despite having witnessed this transformation a handful of times now. The soft, velvety sealskin ripples off tanned muscle, revealing a delectably naked man who stretches out his limbs with a low groan and then folds the skin to shove it beneath his head as a makeshift pillow.

 

Their last meeting had been at Hanzo’s beach house—a rather tentative invitation made on Hanzo’s part—with the purpose of returning Jesse’s rucksack; firstly to get rid of it because it didn’t belong to him and secondly to inquire (quite bluntly) after the origins of its contents. Jesse’s eyes had widened in surprised delight at having it back, for it was his favourite and he had believed it lost forever after abandoning the cove. He’d gone on to reassure Hanzo that everything in that pack had been dropped by previous owners overboard or scavenged off beaches.

 

Hanzo had only half believed that and would not have put it past Jesse to casually steal things either but refrained from bringing this sentiment to his attention...after all, Hanzo himself was no stranger to theft for survival.

 

Jesse had given Hanzo an amused glance and said, “Finders keepers. Ain’t that right, Hanzo?”

 

Sufficiently accused and ears burning as red as the rucksack he’d taken, Hanzo had denied him the pleasure of a reaction.

 

The rest of the evening had been spent breaking open the bottle of _umeshu_ Hanzo had been saving, deciding that it would do well as both an apology to Jesse and a little boost for himself.

  
  


Jesse shifts beside Hanzo, propping his head up on an arm and disturbing his thoughts.

 

Hanzo makes an inquiring grunt after being pinned with an intense, searching look for longer than was comfortable but Jesse just curls his lips upwards in a smile, eyes softening a little.

 

“I’m one lucky son of a bitch, havin’ you all to myself,” he says finally.

 

“Yes, how convenient to have seduced a man with a private beach.”

 

Jesse laughs, “Sassy too,” he leans over and pecks Hanzo on the lips, “I could never know what you were thinkin’, before. And never thought you’d want anything to do with me after finding out.”

 

 _I still do not know why my body wants you,_ Hanzo silently agrees but to Jesse he offers a shrug. “I enjoy your company.”

 

“Dick was just that good, huh.”

 

“In fact, I enjoy you better as a seal, when you’re not speaking at all.”

 

Jesse’s answering grin is blinding and Hanzo is too dazzled to do anything but stare.

 

Resting his head back on the folded pelt, Jesse’s grin remains as he speaks. “Shit...that’s what’s so great about this. You know about me without makin’ such a big deal out of it.”

 

Hanzo has more than a few contradicting opinions on that. “Fortunately for you I am still in denial.”

 

“Fucker,” Jesse cheerfully shoots back.

 

Jesse’s gaze turns to the blue sky above them, his eyes fluttering closed with a sigh of contentment and Hanzo allows his own to roam...lingering on the hairy chest that rises and falls gently, following the dark trail that leads to a tantalising, half-chubbed cock. Hanzo wrenches his eyes away from there and back to Jesse’s face, an arm now slung over it as he naps.

 

With the veil of ignorance and misdirection lifted, Hanzo has been able to notice and file away into his mind a collection of things that separate Jesse from the average man; his reliance on an exceedingly acute sense of smell, canines that are slightly larger and sharper than the average human’s, reflective pupils that Hanzo experienced first-hand in the darkness of the cove weeks earlier and the uncanny ability to locate large shoals of fish, which, Hanzo is certain, should be of use at some point.

 

When in seal form, Jesse is instantly recognisable not only by the obvious lack of a front flipper, but also by the pattern of whiskers that mimic the wild growth of his human beard...Hanzo finds it more than a little endearing.

 

Most recently, though—and thanks to some friendly competition— Hanzo discovers that Jesse is a powerful swimmer in spite of his limb shortage, coming up for breath rarely even as a man. Hanzo concedes defeat graciously enough but nursed a bruised ego at being left leagues behind in a cloud of bubbles and quietly vowed never to race Jesse again.

 

Jesse’s breathing is slow and deep and Hanzo shifts onto his side to face him properly. He traces Jesse’s lips lightly with a finger, inhaling a little in surprise when Jesse kisses it, having supposedly been asleep.

 

Jesse’s voice is low and thoughtful when he next speaks. “I just realised something…”

 

“What is it.”

 

“Only a couple folks know about me, but you’re the first one I’ve fucked.”

 

“I am truly honoured.”

 

Chuckling, Jesse readjusts his position and raises a knee. Hanzo notices that the half-chub of his cock has filled out to a full chub and swallows hard.

 

“You have been mingling with humans for quite some time, then,” Hanzo says, trying to keep the lust out of his voice.

 

“First of all, people are everywhere so I couldn’t escape ‘em even if I wanted to. And I found them funny lookin’, I was always a nosy little—” he stops as he suddenly remembers something and laughs, “—shit, this one time I hitched a ride on a fella’s kayak and just the fuckin’ _look_ on his face. A group of kayakers floatin’ down Scottish coast and you would’ve thought they’d seen a seal before.”

 

Hanzo snorts. Clearly Jesse had no concept of how extraordinary he was. He remains curious about who these other people were that possessed an awareness of Jesse’s true existence, but does not know how to inquire without appearing to pry. Perhaps, given time, Jesse would reveal this himself.

 

Jesse runs a hand through his hair, shaking the sand out. “Heard one of ‘em call the fella ‘McCree’—the fella whose kayak I was on—and I liked it enough to use it myself after that.”

 

“Jesse McCree...” Hanzo murmurs, stroking down Jesse’s thigh lightly, unable to resist any longer.

 

Jesse inhales sharply. “Sounds real nice comin’ out of that pretty mouth.”

 

“This pretty mouth is exceptionally talented.”

 

“Mmm. That so?”

 

And Hanzo demonstrates by sucking him off quite spectacularly, bringing him ruthlessly to climax in minutes and swallowing the hot spurts of come that result with a low moan. He has missed the weight and taste of another man on his tongue and had burned with the desire to have Jesse’s thick and heavy cock in his mouth at least once in his life.

 

Jesse returns the favour enthusiastically and Hanzo’s vision whites out when he comes hard down Jesse’s milking, convulsing throat, hands tangled in mussed brown hair.

 

Hanzo feels he can now truly appreciate the perks of a privately owned beach, and resigning himself to having sand trickle from his crevices for all eternity seems like a fair price to pay.

 

The drugging effects of orgasm and consistent flow of endorphins appear to relax Jesse into loosening his tongue even more and Hanzo listens to the soothing cadence of his voice, too spent and satisfied to move or speak himself. He gains additional details about Jesse and his life growing up; how he learned to read and write on his own because he thought it would be useful, how he knew the best curse words and insults in as many languages as indeed existed yelled at him by the fishermen he would steal fresh catch from, how he had left his mother as a young seal as was the custom and never saw her again...how he’s never told anyone these things before because he didn’t stick around long enough to find someone who would listen.

 

Jesse holds Hanzo’s gaze meaningfully and Hanzo attempts to think of something to say to that, perhaps share some of his own past in exchange, but ends up not being able to utter a single word.

 

There’s some distant barking and Jesse springs to his feet, plants a hard kiss on Hanzo’s mouth and races to shore. “Told some friends about this place!” he calls out over his shoulder, slinging the sealskin around his body as he reaches the water’s edge.

 

Hanzo readies a shout in protest, but Jesse has already dived under the waves to join his brethren and will not be able to hear it.

 

 

* * *

 

It rains for three consecutive days and it’s during this time (along with trying to find something to do that does not involve the beach or Jesse) that Hanzo takes out his father’s small gun collection—discovered back when he’d started renovations on the house—from behind the luxury wood panelling in a corner of his bathroom.

 

He’s cleaning and oiling each surprisingly well-preserved piece, accompanied by some misplaced nostalgia for his childhood, when he hears a firm tapping on the glass doors at his back. He turns and spots Jesse, grinning, soaked and naked but for the pelt slung around his shoulders and the seal head being used as a hood—a practical but rather disturbing accessory, Hanzo decides, staring too long into the empty eye sockets.

 

Jesse slides open the door and snakes an arm in to grab one of the towels Hanzo left there for him, drying himself off and making muffled sounds of pleasure into the soft, fluffy fabric.

 

A dimpled smile is present when he emerges. “I could use a drink and a pretty face.”

 

Snorting, Hanzo quietly stores the weapons and brings out the Japanese whiskey he knows Jesse likes (and that he himself can tolerate the taste of), while Jesse pulls on some clothes, stored there during his last visit. He does not bother buttoning his plaid shirt and for that Hanzo is quite grateful, greedily consuming the wide expanse of hairy chest with his eyes.

 

They sit opposite each other at a low table by the glass doors, drinking and watching the rain fall, listening to the occasional rumbles of thunder interspersed with the crashing of surf beyond.

 

Hanzo, feeling bold and curious, reaches out and lightly touches one of many scars littering Jesse’s torso, lingering on the largest; a vicious bite mark marring his left side, barely hidden by the shirt he’s wearing. It’s the scar Hanzo has had to smother the most questions about.

 

Jesse watches him closely, his expression guarded. He does not ask Hanzo to stop.

 

“Killer whale,” he mutters after a moment.

 

Jesse waves a hand dismissively at Hanzo’s ensuing frown, misunderstanding, “Orca, whatever. I figure I have the right to call ‘em killers anyway, even if they’re technically not whales,” his fingers join Hanzo’s in tracing the jagged lines of traumatised skin. “This was the bite that took my arm.”

 

Hanzo withdraws his hand, refills their glasses in silence and waits.

 

After a sip of his drink, Jesse rewards Hanzo’s patience by speaking. “Got into some trouble in open water and two seconds later I was staring down the belly of a killer whale...tossed me around somethin’ awful too and I thought to myself ‘hell, I hope he finishes me off ‘fore I puke’.

 

“A humpback must’ve heard the kill signal and got me outta there fast. I took off my pelt right before she dropped me near a human boat—Coast Guard or Navy or somethin’, can’t really remember. I just know this mean-lookin’ sonofabitch with scars,” he makes slashing motions using an index finger over cheek and nose, “was the one to haul me onboard and let me tell ya I was bleedin’ out, half dead and bare-assed but I still would’ve bit anyone tryin’ to get my pelt off of me. And so I bit him.”

 

Jesse pauses in his retelling, smiling wryly towards his drink at something Hanzo cannot see.

 

“That man kept me alive. He was meaner than a hungry mama shark and just as ruthless, he made me stay awake ‘til I couldn’t no more. I woke up in some military hospital without my pelt and I was spittin’ mad, but only ‘cause I was so scared. Someone called him over ‘cause I was hollerin’ and thrashing around and bleedin’ over everything and he just throws my pelt at me so I could ‘shut the fuck up’,” Jesse stops to chuckle and shake his head, “I was good as gold after I got it back...mostly.”

 

His smile fades a little. “I think I was there a couple weeks...everyone thought I was too fucked up to talk and I let ‘em believe it. Never really interacted with people before that, at least not as a human. All I did in that room was sleep, eat and watch shitty westerns on an old TV with just the one channel but I liked how the actors talked so I practised by myself ‘til I could hold a conversation with someone.”

 

“You expect me to believe,” Hanzo begins, carefully setting down his glass as if that will help him process absurd information more efficiently, “that this is how you speak because _cowboy movies?”_

 

Jesse blinks back at him. “Yeah? What, don’t tell me you ain’t never pretended so hard to be something or someone that it stuck.”

 

Hanzo knows this was said half in jest but the image of his father rises unbidden in his mind and he brushes the thought away lest it darken the mood to a dangerous level.

 

“Anyhow,” Jesse continues, “I got the hell outta there first chance I got...they were startin’ to ask me a lot of questions and I knew they weren’t gonna let me walk free if I started answering ‘em. The mean fella who saved me, though? I think he had me figured out, at least a little bit. He “forgot” to shut the windows the night I bailed.”

 

Hanzo lets out an amused huff of breath, then meets Jesse’s gaze. “Thank you for telling me this.”

 

“Well, I figured you should know seein’ as how _invested_ you are in my body,” Jesse smirks, and Hanzo knows he’s downplaying the importance of their exchange but cannot bring himself to call him out on it. Hanzo understands the discomfort caused by sincerity and the sharing of stale emotional baggage.

 

Jesse shifts forward and brushes his pinkie over Hanzo’s. He flicks his gaze towards the seamless wooden case where Hanzo had stored his father’s guns, currently standing forgotten in a corner of the room.

 

“So...what’s your story?”

 

“I do not know what you mean.”

 

Jesse rolls his eyes, “C’mon Hanzo, guy who owns beachfront property that used to crawl with the mob? I ain’t dumb. I know the look of a man who’s tryin’ to outrun his demons.”

 

Hanzo expels air harshly from his nose, berating himself for having underestimated his companion so thoughtlessly. _Fool_.

 

“‘Sides,” Jesse continues, “Folks don’t really hide who they are when animals are watching,” he nods at Hanzo’s left arm, sleeve rolled up to the elbow, “Not the first time I’ve seen ink like that.”

 

Grimacing, Hanzo pours more whiskey for himself and knocks it back, receiving a soft snort of “ _that bad, huh,”_  from Jesse when he refills once again.

 

Hanzo gathers his thoughts for a moment before making a tentative start. “I was the head of the most powerful crime family in all of Japan.”

 

“You’re shittin’ me,” Jesse’s eyebrows shoot up, “ _Shimada?_ Damn, I done caught me a big fish.”

 

Hanzo feels a brief flash of pride for the notoriety of his family name, but it is quickly followed by guilt and remorse. That name and the recognition surrounding it would die with him and his brother. _As it should_.

 

“My younger brother and I were raised into a particular way of life,” Hanzo says, “Our mother died when we were children and our father left most of the raising to the Family after that; although he took some care in preparing me for the burden of command, which I inherited when he died. I was twenty-five.”

 

Jesse makes a sympathetic sound. “Young.”

 

Nodding, Hanzo wets his lips with whiskey and continues, “There was a marked difference between how my brother and I were treated. I was challenged, pressured and isolated by the Clan and their expectations of me. My brother, on the other hand, was mostly neglected and often indulged. I envied him; his freedom to escape obligations, his ability to navigate social situations with ease...and yet he was the only person I could trust, so I made him my enforcer. He enjoyed the position a great deal and he abused his power at times, but his ideas for optimising our methods were refreshingly creative. The Elders did not like that.”

 

“I bet they didn’t.”

 

Hanzo closed his eyes, willing his voice not to falter now that he was approaching one of the most difficult things in his life to talk about.

“My brother’s vision of what would benefit the Clan was...vastly underappreciated by the Elders. Whenever the Clan pushed, he pushed against them harder...he did not fear or know them like I did and that made him reckless. I gave him the order to commit _yubitsume_ several times and he paid the price of disobedience repeatedly because I heeded the whispering in my ear.”

 

He makes a gesture towards his tattoo, curling his lip in disgust, “We were supposedly a family of dragons and yet I was surrounded by snakes.”

 

Jesse pours them the last of the whiskey. “I’m guessing family reunions are a regular shitshow.”

 

Hanzo allows a small pause before continuing with grim resignation. “I killed them all.”

 

Jesse stills. “...Oh.”

 

Hanzo can see that he’s struggling for something to add, his leg bouncing up and down restlessly from its raised position on the floor. Finally, Jesse shakes his head.

 

“Hell, right now I don’t know if I ought to offer sympathies or congratulations.”

 

Hanzo swirls the amber liquid around in his glass. “They wanted me to execute my brother. He does not know this...or at least I believe he doesn’t,” he lets out a bitter laugh, “I refused to do it. I could not. I had him banished instead, against the Elders’ wishes.”

 

“It makes you less of a piece of shit than you could’ve been, if you ask me.”

 

Hanzo tilts his head, acknowledging this perspective that perhaps just a few months earlier he would have had significant self-loathing and several arguments to counter.

 

“I bought him time the only way I knew how,” he says, his voice a rough and low, “I hurt him. I separated him. But at least he was free. My decision caused much unrest amongst the Elders and they intended to have me forcefully removed, but I still had many loyal brothers and sisters at my back and was able to escape with their help.”

 

He sets his empty glass upon the table and rotates it slowly with thumb and forefinger. “I began to hunt each of the Elders, and those closest to them, one by one. I may have been a disgrace to my family, but at the very least I had honour...the things the Clan planned to do in my name, using Shimada connections and resources, were _unspeakable_. My last duty as scion was to stop them. And I did.”

 

Jesse gives a low whistle. Lights up a cigarette. “That’s fuckin’ rough.” he says, exhaling smoke.

 

Hanzo grunts in agreement, plucks the cigarette from Jesse’s lips and takes a long drag. He expels the smoke through his nostrils with a sigh, cocking his head inquiringly at Jesse’s soft chuckle.

 

Jesse merely shakes his head, smiling. “Dragon.”

  
  


They are quite drunk by the time Hanzo asks what Jesse’s name is in his native language but to Hanzo’s bleary disappointment Jesse refuses to oblige him, vigorously shaking his head.

 

After filling his glass—this time pouring from a freshly opened bottle of imported bourbon—Hanzo imperiously asks, “ _Teach it to me_ ,” punctuating each word with the thumping of the bottle upon the table.

 

Jesse tips forward to take the bourbon from him and—much less gracefully— spills some into his own glass, then leans back to put all of his best assets on display.  

 

“Y’see...the danger of speakin’ my native language in this here _smokin’_ _bod_ ,” Jesse slurs, his palm making its way from chest to thigh in a sensuous slide, “s’that no one can survive the raw, sexual energy. Sorry sweetheart, don’t think you’re strong enough t’handle it.”

 

Hanzo downs the rest of his drink in one gulp, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and fixes him with a challenging stare, “Try me.”

 

Thus convinced, and sometime around four in the morning, Jesse arranges himself seductively across the table and proceeds to belt out the song of his people while Hanzo roars with laughter on the floor.

  


* * *

 

The leaves begin to turn and fall, signalling both the end of summer and what should have been Jesse’s journey off to wherever it was he needed to go but instead he is helping Hanzo make the bed that they now share most nights.

 

Jesse has been visiting more often and staying longer each time, but Hanzo has not dared to question why Jesse remains here with him or when he plans to depart, preferring to take this as the gift it clearly is. He finishes smoothing out the fitted sheet over the mattress and moves to introduce a duvet for the dropping temperature while Jesse wrestles a pillow into its corresponding pillowcase using a hand and his teeth.

 

Hanzo feels relaxed and content, relishing this small moment of domesticity in a way he was never given the opportunity to do before. Both his and Jesse’s eyes meet over the freshly made bed, their smiles mirrored.

 

“This is...nice.” Jesse says, placing one of the pillows on Hanzo’s side of the bed.

 

“Hm?”

 

Jesse gestures at the space between them, “This right here. Sometimes I can’t believe I have this with you. That you stuck with me even though I’m—” he sweeps a hand over himself, not an ounce of self-consciousness over the fact he’s not the typical human man with one less limb than usual, but Hanzo does manage to glean a note of wonder from Jesse’s tone as if he at any point had thought himself undeserving of Hanzo’s prolonged attentions.

 

Except, as a man who has found in Jesse the unconditional acceptance that he never thought he would receive after a life of terrible crimes, Hanzo understands. _I do not deserve him either._

 

Jesse fidgets with a corner of the duvet, focusing all of his attention on picking at a loose thread and then swallows convulsively.

 

Finally meeting Hanzo’s gaze, Jesse hesitates. “I’ve never...uh...”

 

“You’ve never what?” Hanzo prods after a considerable pause.

 

“Never, uh...been in love before.” Jesse admits, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, watches Hanzo with eyes that are dark and imploring. _Vulnerable_. “I think I love you.”

 

Hanzo quietly reels, his mind staggering clumsily through a myriad of possible replies—because _love_ was something that created as many questions as it answered—but the silence lengthens until it’s too late to utter one.

 

Jesse huffs out a self-deprecating laugh. “...Yeah.”

 

When he leaves, he shuts the door behind him with less force than Hanzo expects him to.

  
  


Hanzo never imagined he’d spend his afternoon following a trail of abandoned clothing to the beach, neither did he expect to steel himself for a serious conversation with the massive seal settled forlornly on an island of rock surrounded by churning sea. And it would have been significantly taxing on his pride to attempt it, had the seal not slithered into the water and emerged from the surf as a man like something out of mythology; gloriously wet and gloriously nude but for the dark, dripping pelt draped around his shoulders.

 

He approaches Hanzo guardedly, wading through shallow water and stopping just a few feet short of where Hanzo stands.

 

“I apologise,” Hanzo starts, because it feels like the right thing to say, but Jesse shakes his head.

 

“You ain’t got nothin’ to apologise for.”

 

The sound of the waves pushing and pulling fills the following silence briefly.

 

“I feel like an idiot for sayin’ it.” Jesse finally says.

 

“I was...unprepared.”

 

A snort. “Yeah, no shit. I saw your face...I scared the hell out of you.”

 

Hanzo lowers his eyes, unable to contradict him.

 

Jesse releases a frustrated breath. “Damn...I’m scared too, y’know? I like my freedom, I like doin’ whatever the hell I want, whenever I want. Never really had a reason to stay anywhere.”

 

Hanzo swallows thickly. _Please_ , he thinks, a deep ache in his chest _._

 

Jesse holds Hanzo’s gaze. “But you’ve gone and made yourself someone to stay for.”

 

He bows his head, lets out a weary sigh, “I know it’s a lot to ask that you feel the same way and I don’t expect you to. I know that this ain’t normal _._ I know _I_ ain’t normal _._ ”

 

A light drizzle begins to fall and Hanzo’s pulse quickens with anxiety at the subtle tinge of regret colouring Jesse’s voice.

 

“Spend winter here with me,” Hanzo’s words leave in a rush and he feels the tables turn when Jesse gapes at him. His heart thunders in his chest at the prospect of rejection and his mouth dries up but he barrels on, “I have plenty of food and space, you’ll have somewhere to sleep and stay warm...you won’t need to worry about anything.”

 

Jesse’s eyes narrow. “I can take care of myse—”

 

“I am aware of that,” Hanzo interrupts, also aware that he’s making this offer quite selfishly. He cannot, however, admit his feelings as readily as Jesse has and he refuses to imagine even the next few days without him...he must make do with baring his soul in other ways. “I am merely asking for your company and giving you access to my home for the winter, should you want it.”

 

Jesse’s gaze is intense and searches Hanzo’s for any sign of deceit. The vulnerable look in his eyes has returned and it ignites a distinct flare of pain behind Hanzo’s sternum to see it.

 

“I can’t stay forever,” Jesse whispers.

 

“I would not ask you to.” Hanzo reassures him, and it starts to feel like he’s bargaining...negotiating an opportunity to dispel his— _their_ —loneliness, but not at the cost of Jesse’s freedom or identity. He, more than anyone, knows the desperation that results from living in a prison.  He waits on Jesse’s answer with his pulse hammering in his ears.

 

“I ain’t very good at—” Jesse cuts himself off and Hanzo knows what he means to say, because he silently replies _I am not very good at this either_. He opens his mouth but Jesse speaks before he gets the chance to repeat it out loud.

 

“ _Hell_...alright.”

 

Hanzo surges forward, wading to join Jesse in the lapping water, grasping Jesse’s face with both hands and kissing him hard, dripping and all. Jesse’s sound of surprise melts into the heat of their entwined tongues and Hanzo feels him tremble, thinking for the briefest of moments that it is due to emotion until Jesse—with a breathless laugh—stutters out against his lips that he is actually freezing his nuts off.

 

Smiling, Hanzo presses his forehead against Jesse’s, steals a kiss, then another.

 

“Think we ought to get ourselves warm.” Jess murmurs, his breath hot over Hanzo’s face.

 

Hanzo makes a low sound in his throat. “I hope you will not object to me burying myself inside you and pumping you full of heat.”

 

He swallows Jesse’s ensuing moan, and leads him out of the surf, towards the beach house...and to bed.

  
  


They stumble into the bedroom, soaked, for the rain now lashes down against the glass and thunder rumbles through the air; but it is all ignored in favour of drugging, knee-weakening kisses. Languidly licking into mouths and sucking on tongues, they undress completely—Hanzo having more to remove than a single sealskin—already panting and overheated with arousal.

 

Hanzo presses Jesse into the mattress, trapping their cocks between their perspiring bodies in a slow, sensual grind. They maintain this rhythm and eye contact for a while longer until Hanzo parts Jesse’s powerful thighs with calloused hands, spreading him and baring him. He moves sinuously down Jesse’s body, flicking his tongue out at a nipple on his journey, hovering over the fat, weeping cock without touching it and arriving to mouth at heavy balls, taking a moment to inhale their scent deeply.

 

Jesse gasps and rolls his hips towards him. “ _Shit,_ I’m burnin’ up, you burn me up so good.”

 

Hanzo lavishes attention on Jesse’s sac until the seconds become minutes, and until Jesse can bear the teasing no longer.  

 

“C’mon, give it to me right now sweetheart, before I—” Jesse breaks off into a low groan as Hanzo’s fingers, dripping with lube, push into him. Jesse greedily fucks himself on his hand and Hanzo lets him, watching the way he undulates with predatory hunger.

 

“ _Fuck_ me, you son of a bitch,” Jesse hisses, through sweat and gritted teeth, when Hanzo shows no signs of taking it any further.

 

Withdrawing his fingers from Jesse who laments at the loss, Hanzo unhurriedly slicks up his own cock, making sure to jerk himself as slowly as he can until Jesse drops his head against the pillow with a frustrated groan and impatiently humps the air. Taking pity on him, Hanzo lines up his cock and slides teasingly up Jesse’s balls, circling his hole and leaving a shiny trail.

 

Just as Hanzo hears a harsh inhale—no doubt in preparation for hurling more insults to his heritage—he buries himself inside to the hilt with one smooth thrust and whatever Jesse had meant to say is lost in a hoarse cry. Hanzo’s eyes roll back into his head at how perfectly Jesse takes him, and he releases a shaky breath, lets his vision focus and very nearly comes at the sight of a glistening, writhing, gasping Jesse beneath him, urging him to move with an insistent rolling of his hips that Hanzo is immediately forced to put a stop to before he peaks.

 

“Please, baby—oh _fuck_ —keep going.”

 

Taking a deep and calming breath, Hanzo heeds him, grabbing the back of Jesse’s thigh, hooking it over his shoulder and adjusting the angle and intensity of his thrusts to where the noises Jesse makes sound the sweetest. Drops of sweat roll from his brow and into his eyes, so Hanzo closes them, immersing himself in what he gains from his remaining senses. When he opens them again, Jesse’s is an expression of absolute bliss, his arm thrown back and clutching at the pillow beneath his head, his chest heaving and glittering with moisture. Hanzo drinks in the sight like a man dying of thirst, and moves faster, deeper and harder, watching his cock disappear into Jesse’s body with something resembling awe. Jesse suddenly wraps himself around Hanzo and pulls him in close, Hanzo inhales the scent of his neck and hair, dusts his jaw with kisses—no space, no air between them, just heat and sex and skin.

 

When Jesse climaxes, he does so without warning—a guttural cry and he’s shooting ribbons of come so hard across his chest that some of it spatters his chin. Hanzo begins to slow down, intending to let him fully ride out his pleasure, except the single tear he spies trickling from the outer corner of Jesse’s eye due to the force of his orgasm has Hanzo hurtling over the edge before he can help it and he finishes with one last powerful thrust, spilling inside with a muffled gasp against Jesse’s throat.

 

They lie dazed for one whole minute, chests heaving. Jesse breaks the silence with a single, emphatic and eloquent, “ _Fuck_.”

 

Hanzo, still lying quite prone on top of him because his brain seems to have disconnected itself from the rest of his body somewhere along the way, can only offer a weak grunt in reply.

 

“Feels different when it’s—” Jesse stops, clears his throat.

 

 _When it’s someone you care about_ , Hanzo’s mind supplies with a readiness that he’s in no condition to look into any further so he ignores it, hums vaguely in agreement instead and wriggles decisively onto his side, offering his back Jesse. When there’s no immediate reaction he pushes at the larger man with his ass and makes an impatient sound, receiving an amused huff and a draping of warm limbs over his body as his demand to be cuddled is met.  

 

They fall asleep to the sounds of a storm and the synchronised thudding of their hearts.

 

* * *

 

 

Upon waking, having at some point in his sleep assumed the position of big spoon and capitalising on it as soon as his bedmate allows, Hanzo slowly and painstakingly penetrates Jesse from behind while he’s still slippery and loose from earlier, coming to the sight of Jesse’s open-mouthed and silent scream of ecstasy as he’s gently, encouragingly fucked into spending himself on the sheets.

 

Feeling wildly possessive, Hanzo grabs Jesse’s chin and pushes a tongue into his mouth, swallowing his sleepy, sated moans. It is late afternoon and the sun has peeked out from behind receding storm clouds in a brave attempt to warm what remains of the day, bathing the bedroom and both men in soft, golden light.

 

“Looks like we gotta change the bed again.” Jesse murmurs after a while, shifting onto his back and pulling Hanzo with him.

 

Hanzo cannot bring himself to care, not while his head is comfortably pillowed by Jesse’s generous chest. “Mm.” He watches the play of sunlight on the far wall of the room while letting his fingers idly roam up and down Jesse’s torso.

 

“You would tell me if you had someone else to return to, wouldn’t you? A family, perhaps?” Hanzo asks, aiming for casual. Jesse angles his head to stare at him, perplexed.

 

“What kinda question is that?”

 

Instead of saying anything, Hanzo chooses to hold Jesse’s gaze with more determination than is required.

 

Jesse lets out a huff of breath. “Naw, there ain’t nobody waitin’ for me. My own folk didn’t even think I’d live too long after this,” he gestures with his stump, “pretty much gave up on me. ‘Sides, I ain’t the type to settle down.”

 

Hanzo, doubts somewhat abated, hums and slips a hand between Jesse’s thighs to absently fondle his balls and Jesse breathes a contented sigh, hips swaying lazily into the motions.

 

“And I’d rather be here with you than freezin’ my ass off out there trying to raise some yappy little shits for the sake of expandin’ the gene pool.” Jesse says.

 

“I happen to be fond of your genes. You would make fine little shits.”

 

“Well, that’s your opinion.”

 

“I am heavily biased,” Hanzo agrees, and leans in close to cover Jesse’s mouth with his own.

 

Their intense kissing (and Jesse’s devoted groping of Hanzo’s chest) is rudely interrupted by the sliding of doors and a bright call of greeting—the voice belonging to the only other person in possession of an entry code.

 

Nose-to-nose, Hanzo looks at Jesse with a horrified widening of eyes that Jesse automatically copies, and Hanzo is certain he will laugh at the memory of his bug-eyed look much, much later but for now he’s forced to prioritise. Snatching his hand back as though burned, Hanzo hisses at a confused Jesse to put some clothes on and leaps out of bed, hurrying into the bathroom to wash his hands lest he greet his brother smelling of balls—realising belatedly that he would need much more than that to remove the evidence of what he and Jesse have been doing.

 

The sound of socked feet approaching and sliding doors being earnestly wrenched open grows louder; Hanzo barely has enough time to put himself to rights and usher a fully clothed Jesse out of the master bedroom, before sliding the door shut firmly behind them both and following the source of noise to the hall.

 

Genji stands in the centre of the room, peering around at some of the renovations Hanzo has made to it, a neon green duffel bag—indication that he plans to stay for a while—resting at his feet. He is slightly damp and dishevelled, presumably having gotten caught in the downpour just a few hours prior. When his gaze finally falls on Hanzo and Jesse entering, his face comically forgets what expression it is supposed to have, eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline—for Jesse is carrying himself with the air of a man who has been thoroughly and repeatedly satisfied.

 

“Uh...Hanzo, what the fuck.”

 

Hanzo accepting the inevitable, turns to Jesse. “This is Genji,” he says in English, “my brother.”

 

Genji’s gaze flickers from Hanzo to Jesse curiously. “You must forgive me, I had no idea my brother would have...company.”

 

With a pang of an unnamed emotion, Hanzo realises that this is the first time he has heard his brother’s cultured and accented English in close to a decade.

 

Jesse is quick to smile. “No harm done.”

 

Genji scrutinises Jesse closely with narrowed eyes.

 

Jesse raises his brows in response. “Somethin’ wrong?”

 

“No, I am trying to understand...you are not my brother’s type at all. No offense.”

 

Jesse barks out a laugh, “None taken,” he holds out his only hand for Genji to shake, “I’m Jesse. And believe me, I’ve proven to your brother over and over just how much his type I really am,” he says with a rascal’s grin.

 

Genji—being somewhat of a rascal himself—recognises a kindred spirit and takes the proffered hand warmly, “Oh, _there_ it is,” he says, tossing Hanzo a knowing look, well aware of his weakness for charming, wilful men. Hanzo reacts by desiring immediate death.

 

“So, Mr. Jesse, what do you do?” Genji asks.

 

“Just Jesse, and I’m, uh...actually a seal.”

 

“Oh...I did not expect a military man,” Genji glances again at Hanzo who is now dragging a palm down his face. Jesse is clearly finding the entire exchange highly entertaining.

 

“Well, this saves me from awkwardly asking about _that_ ,” Genji nods at Jesse’s missing limb, “I am honoured to meet you.”

 

“Thank you kindly.” Jesse very graciously replies, and Hanzo decides it’s time to steer the conversation elsewhere.

 

“I thought you wanted this ‘dump’ sold or burned to the ground. You could have told me you were coming.”

 

“And spoil the surprise? Impossible. Although I must say, now that I am here,” Genji slides a sly look towards Jesse, “...Touché.”

 

Hanzo can absolutely tell that Jesse is trying not to laugh.

 

“I also wanted to see you” Genji adds, “and was sure that you needed to see _me_ or risk brooding to death in this house but clearly you are managing just fine by yourself.”

 

“And I wasn’t returning your calls.”

 

“And you were not returning my calls,” Genji agrees, “so technically my being here is your fault.”

 

Genji straightens suddenly, switching to Japanese, “Bathroom’s still in the same place, right? I haven’t had the chance to piss in like, five hours.”

 

With an affirmative grunt, Hanzo waves him away with a hand, grimacing when just seconds later he hears a mightily offended, “You turned my room into a fucking _gym??_ ” echoing throughout the corridor.

 

Jesse clears his throat and puts a hand in his pocket. Hanzo faces him with a weary sigh.

 

“Sooo…” Jesse begins, “didn’t know y’all were on speakin’ terms.”

 

“We are, but only as of late. He is very insistent and annoying.”

 

“Nothin’ wrong with that. I’m happy for you.”

 

Hanzo accepts this with a little nod and the tension he didn’t even realise he was holding began to seep out of his shoulders.

 

Jesse lifts a corner of his mouth in a smile. “You can tell him about me, if you want.”

 

Hanzo’s brows crinkle with confusion, “Tell him that you’re…?”

 

Jesse raises a shoulder in a shrug, “I kinda tried already. I don’t mind him hearing it from you and it saves me from creepin’ around with secrets while he’s here.”

 

“I truly did not expect you two ever to meet.”

 

“Well, do you think you could hide what I am and what we have right now from him? Do you want to?”

 

Hanzo is careful in his reply. “I do not. But—”

 

“I’m just sayin’, based off of what you told me the other day...he went through hell for you, you went through hell for him and that’s the kind of bond that makes me feel good about y’all not selling me off to some billionaire with a cryptid collection.”

 

Hanzo responds incredulously, “That is the most _absurd_ —”

 

“Great!” Jesse beams, “So if _you_ don’t wanna trade me off for a couple billion dollars, and if you’re sure your brother won’t either, then I’m a-okay with him knowin’ about me.”

 

“You say this as if you’re certain he will believe me,” Hanzo mutters.

 

Jesse chuckles. “Well, I told you how I feel about it. Rest is up to you.”

 

Genji chooses this moment to join them, appearing significantly more relieved than when he left.

 

Jesse gives Hanzo a meaningful look. “I’m gonna head out for a swim. I’ll let y’all catch up.” He places an unabashed peck on Hanzo’s lips and a offers a lazy salute to Genji before leaving them alone.

 

Hanzo stares after him for a moment, both humbled and disturbed by the level of trust Jesse appears to have recklessly given him.

 

“You look just like father when you scowl like that,” Genji says, wrinkling his nose in distaste, something Hanzo hasn’t seen him do since their youth.

 

Genji jerks his chin towards the master bedroom where Jesse has disappeared into, “Does he know that it’s not summer anymore?”

 

Hanzo is quick to shrug. “Foreigners.”

 

Despite how adamant Genji had been about avoiding even the mere mention of the beach house months ago, he has evidently changed his mind after seeing just a fraction of the changes and modernisations Hanzo has made. Hanzo suspects that the stuffy, traditional interiors favoured by their father had been more reminiscent of times best forgotten, and with their removal Genji was finding the space more amenable, going so far as to request a brief tour.

 

Genji picks up on several things that Hanzo hasn’t had the heart to replace, such as the scuffed edge of tatami they had ruined as boys while participating in a silly argument over a piece of candy that had quickly escalated into violence, a split in the wooden door frame from when Genji had borrowed Hanzo’s _kunai_ without asking and had misjudged his throw, getting Hanzo in trouble for it.

 

Hanzo trails fingers along the fine edges of the split, finds himself chuckling. He feels Genji watching him and anticipates a comment a split second before it is spoken aloud.

 

“This place looks a lot better now with your improvements...father never really had the patience or taste for interior decorating.”

 

“I doubt he would approve, were he alive today.” Hanzo’s tries to keep the bitterness from seeping through and evidently fails, because Genji turns to him with a thunderous expression.

 

“Stop. Stop trying to please him, stop comparing yourself to him. He was a _failure_. He _failed_ us. No, listen to me,” Genji grabs Hanzo’s shoulder just as Hanzo shakes his head and prepares to counter aggressively with some thoughts of his own, “You were worth his minimum effort because you were the eldest, while I was left to do whatever I wanted because he had no idea what else to do with me. He failed to protect us both from the Clan, he abandoned us and that was _before_ he fucked off from this life.”

 

It was like hearing blasphemy. “If not for him and what he taught me, I would not even _be here now._ ” Hanzo hisses but Genji only lets out a laugh, surprisingly sincere for the subject matter.

 

“Hanzo,” Genji drops his hand from Hanzo’s shoulder and walks over to the nearest window where the beginnings of a sunset filters through. He huffs another laugh, this time accompanied by a light shake of his head. “That was you _._ ”

 

Hanzo frowns, but joins his brother by the window and they both contemplate a crimson sky.

 

“ _You_ made the decisions he wouldn’t, took the action he didn’t...shouldered his burdens and more besides. You surpassed father long ago, Hanzo,” Genji turns his gaze to him, “and I always looked up to you more than him anyway.”

 

Hanzo attempts to swallow the lump that has formed in his throat. “How long did you work on that?” he asks hoarsely.

 

“Almost a week. Pretty good, huh?”

 

Hanzo’s answering snort is a little wet, which prompts him to slap a hand on Genji’s back with more force than necessary. “Yes, you little shit.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Genji wheezes, bent double from the impact and Hanzo takes this opportunity to swiftly and discreetly thumb away the moisture in his eyes.

 

“Now,” Genji says, rolling his shoulders, “who else must I dishonour to get a drink around here?”

  
  


They sit on the polished wooden _engawa_ that wraps around the back of the house with a bottle of _Choya_ between them, waiting for the stars to appear above a dark ocean and accepting the unspoken brotherly challenge to feign themselves unaffected by the bracing sea wind.

 

Hanzo does not recall when he had ever spent time with his brother like this, simply drinking and existing without the crushing burden of family business or expectation and finds himself feeling strangely grateful for the circumstances that have allowed them to get here.

 

“You could have told me you were seeing someone,” Genji says after a while, tone soft and encouraging, “Jesse seems great. And clearly whatever you two have is doing you some good.”

 

In their youth, Genji had always interrogated Hanzo about any romantic pursuit he undertook as if it were his personal business to know, and often used the information against Hanzo—in a relatively well-intentioned way, as long as it was to Genji’s benefit. It taught Hanzo discretion and to be selective in what information Genji should have access to but none of his relationships lasted nearly long enough to be of any lingering interest due to the looming presence of the Clan.

 

Having Genji genuinely care now though, with no apparent ulterior motive, is a little disorienting...but it is not an unwelcome change.

 

Hanzo nods once, stiffly, “He has...helped a great deal. It is complicated, but I’m content and I believe he is also.”

 

His brother grins and makes an approving sound, raising his glass in a toast and Hanzo gruffly echoes Genji’s “ _kampai”_ before downing the alcohol.

 

As he allows his brother to refill their glasses, Hanzo hesitates. “I am sorry.”

 

Genji squints at him, confused. “For?”

 

“For not”—Hanzo interrupts himself, seeking his next words in the night sky—“for not being the brother you deserve.”

 

“Hanzo…” Genji sighs, shaking his head, “I’m _alive_ because of you. You believed I was worth that. I know how the Elders wanted you to deal with me, and what you decided to do instead...I will probably spend the rest of my life repaying the debt I owe you.”

 

Hanzo inhales shakily. _He has known all this time._ The thought, however, serves to unburden him even further and the gratitude he had been feeling earlier is magnified tenfold.

 

Genji adds wryly, “And just because you’re bad at texting and hate yourself, doesn’t mean you’re a terrible brother.”

 

Not entirely persuaded—for Hanzo has suffered too many years with regrets to simply accept that he is anything less than the failure Genji accuses their father of being—he nonetheless swears to do better by Genji, already determined to start as soon as he can.

 

Hanzo senses an opportunity in the companionable silence that now falls upon them to tell the truth about his romantic relationship. He has never been one to break news delicately, so he doesn’t.

 

“Jesse is an actual seal.”

 

Genji raises an eyebrow at the change of subject, “Yeah, Hanzo, I heard him when he said it the first—”

 

Hanzo grits his teeth and wills his words out, hoping they do not sound insane, “The _animal_ not the special ops.”

 

There’s a brief pause before Hanzo is forced to wait an entire thirty seconds for his brother to stop laughing. Hanzo stares into his glass until the gasping subsides and Genji is capable of speech again, but he only offers Hanzo an indulgent smile as though expecting the next part of the punchline.

 

 _Or humouring someone who suffers from mental problems,_ Hanzo sighs inwardly. He throws back the contents of his glass, relishes the burn, and runs a heavily edited summary of past events by his brother, who seems to frown harder the more details he absorbs. Hanzo registers the fact that he is not the only son to have inherited Sojiro Shimada’s stern countenance.

 

Towards the end, Genji actually slips his phone out from his pocket for a few quick seconds of research, gawking at the screen then back up at Hanzo before launching a disbelieving stare out towards the star-studded horizon.

 

Neither of them speak, or drink, or do anything for quite a while.

 

Genji finally breaks the silence, his voice tinged with both amazement and annoyance. “That motherfucker let me think he was _Navy_.”

  
  


(And if Genji had further reason to doubt, he is able to confirm the truth for himself the next unseasonably warm morning during a visit to the beach, where he finds Hanzo attempting to snap a picture of a massive seal—front-left flipper missing—wearing Hanzo’s blue Ray Bans.)

  


* * *

 

 

_He’s dreaming it again._

 

 _Unable to breathe under the weight of infinite darkness, forced to bite the heads off the writhing snakes trapped in this black pit with him before he suffocates, struggling to climb up towards the surface—towards light, air,_ freedom _—and watching in anguish as it moves further and further away._

 

_Sometimes the dream ends differently. Sometimes Genji is waiting for him at the top, reaching down with a hand to pull him out. But there is no Genji this time._

 

A clap of thunder mercifully wakes Hanzo but outside a storm rages in the weak dawn with water and sky frothing and roiling, the violence of it overwhelming him so mercilessly that he throws out an arm to the sleeping body beside him and squeezes to make sure it’s real.

 

“M’not going anywhere,” says a muffled voice from under the covers. “Shitty weather.”

 

After a while Jesse emerges, stretching. “I could get used to this, actually.”

 

Hanzo raises an eyebrow, keeping his panting breaths to a minimum. “Being a kept man?”

 

“Yep. I am mighty comfortable.”

 

Finally noticing the sweat drenching Hanzo’s skin and the heaving of his chest, Jesse’s brows draw together with concern. “Hey...you okay?”

 

Hanzo struggles to stifle the incessant chant of _run, run, run_ that clamours loudly through his mind. “Nightmares.” he says, with some difficulty.

 

Jesse makes a sympathetic sound. Hanzo knows he will understand; he has spent many nights keeping Jesse company through the pain of a limb that wants to be there but cannot. He lets Hanzo settle his face into his neck and talks about things, random things, the low rumble of his speech and the warm hand stroking down Hanzo’s back soothing and grounding.

 

Genji had promptly returned to Hong Kong after just a brief stay at the beach house, no longer as concerned over Hanzo’s mental wellbeing as before and graciously accepting of Jesse’s background if also exceptionally—and understandably—curious, bombarding Jesse with questions that were met with only the vaguest of answers. He had been significantly disappointed to discover that Jesse was up to speed with most human technology already, for Genji adored gadgets and took every opportunity to talk about them to anyone who would listen. Nevertheless, he and Jesse did spend a lot of time drinking, sharing stories and exchanging vulgar jokes—their personalities complementing so well that Hanzo needed to make a conscious effort to restrain his irrational jealousy.

 

Although Hanzo recognises that his brother’s presence has done him more good than he cares to admit, he feels a rush of gratitude in having Jesse all to himself again. He nuzzles the tender spot between Jesse’s jaw and ear and releases a shaky sigh, pulling his focus away from his racing pulse to the warm timbre of Jesse’s voice.

 

“...pretty much all I ever went on land for was a smoke, drink, some deep fried food and a quick fuck.” Jesse chuckles,  “I got real lonesome at sea an’ warm bodies are easy to find when you know where to look.” Hanzo shifts uncomfortably and Jesse hurriedly adds, “You were different though. After that night under the pier I didn’t fuck anyone else, swear on my pelt.”

 

Hanzo purposefully doesn’t comment, but harbours a secret thrill at finally hearing that he’d affected Jesse about as much as Jesse had affected him during those early days.

 

Jesse places a kiss on the top of his head. “I’d never seen anything so goddamn gorgeous,” he uses a couple of fingers to raise Hanzo’s chin and level adoring brown eyes at him, “Just the handsomest and loneliest fella.”

 

Embarrassed, Hanzo mutters his half-hearted protests in Japanese against Jesse’s throat.

 

“Now it’s your turn,” Jesse says.

 

“For what.”

 

“Saying somethin’ nice about my looks.”

 

Hanzo pretends to think long and hard, frowning exaggeratedly and giving his goatee a slow stroke for effect, yelping when Jesse impatiently pinches his exposed nipple. He rolls out of reach and lies rigidly on his back, crosses his arms to protect his vulnerable appendages and scowls up at the ceiling, ensuring that his next words are projected loudly towards it.

 

“You have the most delectable _ass_.”

 

Jesse attempts to shove him, snickering, but Hanzo continues in the most serious tone he can manage. “The _best_ ass,” he closes his eyes as if savouring a treat, raising his hands into the air and groping at a large, imaginary sphere, “full, round and fuzzy like a ripe summer peach.”

 

Jesse buries his face in Hanzo’s neck and shakes with silent laughter. Hanzo, indulging in a small smile, feels very warm and deliriously happy, the cold grip of anxiety finally fading away.

  
  


Hanzo is dozing off, his thoughts ebbing and merging listlessly until one in particular floats to the surface, brighter and clearer than the others.

 

“I think I have met your kind before,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering open.

 

Jesse gives him a strange look. “How’s that?”

 

Hanzo frowns, piecing together the memory. “Down at the beach. It was the last time my father brought us here, after my mother died...I remember being eight years old when I saw a boy among the rocks, but upon investigation the only thing we were able to find was—”

 

Jesse bolts upright with such speed that he startles Hanzo, and gazes down at him with barely contained delight.

 

“That was _you?”_

 

Hanzo squawks in surprise at the flurry of kisses peppering every inch of his face and the wild scrape of beard against his skin. Attempts to heave Jesse off are fruitless, for he clings to him like a warm and hairy limpet.

 

“Scootin’ up them rocks like a little crab. Shit,” Jesse pulls his face back to beam, “you were so goddamn adorable.”

 

“That cannot _possibly_ have been you.”

 

“And the little noisy kid must’ve been Genji,” Jesse continues, smile growing broader, “hell, I knew you before I even knew you.”

 

“You made me look quite the fool after I’d told everyone I had seen a _person_.”

 

“Well, given the situation I figured I’d take my chances as somethin’ with huge puppy-dog eyes.”

 

“And I almost got you shot.” Hanzo mutters.

 

“Yeah, and it was the only time I ever shit myself,” Jesse says, seemingly amused by the memory, “But I got away with it ‘cause I was cute.”

 

The mental image takes Hanzo by surprise and he lets out an inelegant snort of laughter.

 

“Guess I needed someone my age to play with,” Jesse muses, scratching his chin, “I think I wanted to be your friend.”

 

As though only just realising precisely how lonely this sounds, Jesse awkwardly clears his throat and Hanzo presses a soft kiss to his scruffy cheek in understanding.

 

“How does one tell the difference between someone of your kind and an average seal?” Hanzo asks, genuinely curious.

 

Jesse hums in thought. “Don’t think you can, unless you are one. Maybe just treat ‘em all decent and you’ll be fine.”

 

After a pause, he adds, “Hell, maybe they’re _all_ like me. I know some that didn’t ever want to shed their pelts, and some that just plain forgot they could. I got bitten plenty by that bug in the past, wantin’ to stay a seal forever and live the simple life, but then _this_ happened,” he raises his stump, “it’s fuckin’ hard to swim through a storm with one flipper, s’just easier to get a hotel and some room service.”

 

He takes Hanzo’s hand and laces their fingers together, “And I’m one of those people who just keep lookin’ for a home, whether it’s land or sea...don’t think I could choose one permanently.”

 

Hanzo hums in reply as he digests this information and idly traces Jesse’s brows, the line of his nose, his lips...basking in the warmth provided by Jesse’s body and the cocoon of their blankets.

 

Jesse regards him fondly, plays with his hair a little, and gradually his expression turns thoughtful. He rises to a seated position and meets Hanzo’s inquiring sound with, “got somethin’ for you,” before throwing back the covers, getting out of bed and stumbling across the room, naked. He accidentally knocks over one of the many empty beer bottles from the night before that they hadn’t bothered to clear away...preferring to suckle on nipples and milk prostates for hours instead.

 

Hanzo watches him rummage through his faithful rust-coloured rucksack at its usual place by the glass doors. Watches him pull something out and hesitate, stealing a glance towards the bed.

 

Jesse makes his way back and, without breaking eye contact, tentatively holds his sealskin out for Hanzo to take.

 

Puzzled, Hanzo doesn’t. “What are you doing?”

 

“I just want you to keep it safe for me,” Jesse says, gaze piercing, “Can you do that?”

 

Hanzo nods slowly, receiving the pelt with care. Jesse breathes out a sigh and smiles, settling against the pillows while Hanzo momentarily leaves to find somewhere—within full view of Jesse—to place this most precious possession, ultimately deciding to empty out the seamless wooden case of his father’s weapons, and storing the pelt inside. He then slots the case back into one of the sliding cupboards that line a wall of the bedroom where he had been keeping it. He joins Jesse under the covers, the magnitude of his gesture bearing down on Hanzo so tremendously that he almost forgets to breathe. He is honoured by this astonishing show of trust all the same, and swears to be worthy of it.

 

Jesse slowly leans in and kisses him softly and more tenderly than he has ever been kissed in his life and Hanzo realises that this is what it must feel like to be loved.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They settle into a routine of sorts, while they experience the subtle change in seasons together as the winter months arrive.

 

Naturally, they have some adapting to do...regarding the subject of Jesse’s pelt especially, which Jesse occasionally checks on to make sure it’s still there—a tendency that exasperates Hanzo the first few times he catches Jesse doing it—but as time passes and the more Hanzo rationalises this behaviour into something he can accept without feeling offended while _also_ demonstrating he is as trustworthy as Jesse believes him to be, the more the wooden case holding the pelt goes undisturbed. Eventually, Jesse stops checking.

 

The winter they spend together is one of the happiest in Hanzo’s life. He completes his transition from deadly assassin on the run to domestic homebody without protest, milking the season for what it’s worth; uncaring of the fact that it confirms him as an insufferable romantic. He indulges in Christmas cake for the very first time, he unashamedly holds Jesse’s hand whenever they venture into town—heartily agreeing with Jesse’s disgruntled muttering over the cold—spoils Jesse terribly by showering him with gifts, an action that may or may not have been coloured with the intent of enticing him to stay even longer by Hanzo’s side.

 

Caring about Jesse has become second nature, and Hanzo is terrified of the annoying things Jesse does that he is more than willing to tolerate; ending a yawn with a yell, leaving damp towels on the floor, dripping seawater on the tatami, forgetting to replace the toilet paper and leaving a single square on the roll—that Hanzo doesn’t feel homicidal urges when forced to endure this is a sign that he is past the point of no return.

 

And how he wishes to continue enduring Jesse. To feel him and taste him, to breathe him in and to be surrounded by him completely...not daring to call Jesse _his_ but yearning to nonetheless. Every night that finds him stroking Jesse’s hair and murmuring to him softly as he is haunted by the phantom pain of a limb lost years before, every time that Hanzo allows himself to be physically comforted whenever the volume of his past grows too loud for him to bear alone, Hanzo considers himself a lucky man.

 

They drunkenly usher in the new year on the beach, holding fast to each other in a futile effort to protect themselves from being buffeted by wind that howls so loudly it drowns out their laughter and the chattering of their teeth.

 

As the temperatures begin to rise, so do Hanzo’s fears that the time he has with Jesse is trickling away like the melted ice of a winter gone by all too soon. Jesse, however, has given no indication that he intends to depart so the thought is tentatively buried, and Hanzo becomes once again too distracted by his own happiness to revisit it.

 

One early spring morning Hanzo is half-roused by a kiss to his forehead and another, gentler one on his lips only to fully wake just moments later and discover that Jesse has left, taking his pelt and sparse belongings with him. He does not need to pass hour after hour, day after day accompanied by a combination of rage, betrayal and despair to know Jesse won’t be returning. But still, he waits.

 

Hanzo lets himself grieve, but only briefly; he had promised to keep the pelt safe, not hide it away. He’d known in the back of his mind that this day would come, and now that it has he feels _abandoned_ and he can’t stop thinking about how utterly _unfair_ it is. But still, he aches.

 

The months pass and he powers through the ambitious tasks that had lain stagnant and forgotten during his time with Jesse; he sells his father’s house and buys another—after dedicating weeks to tireless research—as close to a thriving seal colony as he can. He visits Genji and his organisation in Hong Kong and is persuaded for a short while to take on temporary work there, which he endures because not only does he feel redeemed by the humanitarian effort, he can use the distraction to soften the hold of the fist that clenches around his heart whenever he thinks about _him_. He reassures a sceptical Genji that he’s doing fine and endeavours to appear so. But still...he loves.

 

Weeks later he returns; exhausted, unfulfilled, bleak. He settles into a routine that he’s resigned himself to keep until he finds some trivial undertaking to occupy his time, because he no longer considers killing for money an option. He attempts to think of alternatives, listening to the sounds of high tide and bathing in the light of another solitary sunset while he prepares tea in his kitchen and it is at this moment that he feels a chill run down his spine, the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and a building anticipation buzz inexplicably beneath his skin. He looks out his window towards the rocky shore where he is accustomed to observing the wildlife, and where a man now stands silhouetted against a scarlet horizon.

 

And Hanzo finally understands. As a sealskin is pressed once again into his hands, as he holds Jesse tightly in his arms and kisses tearful words of apology from his lips, as he hears a rough _“love you, always gonna come back to you,”_ he understands.

 

He is finally home.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesse leave a note next time omg
> 
> Also, don’t imagine Jesse looking for Hanzo at his house and discovering he doesn’t live there anymore! SOB.
> 
> And it's done! Thank you for waiting so patiently :'D
> 
> Jesse’s kayak story alludes to [this delightful video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o4hb84A9h28)
> 
> [Article on humpbacks saving things from orcas](https://news.nationalgeographic.com/2016/08/humpback-whales-save-animals-killer-whales-explained/) because it inspired the backstory for the loss of Jesse’s arm.
> 
> And [this whiny baby seal vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltNfIA5kzt0) never fails to make me ugly laugh.


End file.
